The Geometry of Suffering

"His reflection changed.

The skin of his face seemed to turn translucent, sickly, like wax about to melt. He saw, not a monster, but the void beneath: the architecture of pale bone, the pulsating darkness of the sockets, the lie of that flaccid flesh that covered him like a poorly made, dirty suit. The reflection showed him that his current form was an absence. An abominable, empty husk. 

The Voice was a vibration emanating from that void, a hum that demanded the husk be broken. It was the gospel of his own nothingness...."

"The first sign isn't the sound. It's the pull. Pure physics. A violent spasm of the chassis throwing us forward. Then, the brutal screech. The Cadillac's tires screaming on the wet asphalt. Here we go again.

I open my eyes. The air is a new perfume, intoxicating and nauseating: rust of broken metal, burnt rubber, spilled gasoline, and the unmistakable hot, sweet, metallic reek of blood. The feast…"

“The blade dripped. A dark red... thick as burnt oil, demon's bile, each drop falling with an obscene slowness... an obscene metronome marking the rhythm of my agony. Each drop that hit the dirty, sticky floor resonated in my ears like a hammer blow on a coffin lid. Mine.

I'm going to die. The certainty was absolute, icy, a shard of ice lodged in my brain, paralyzing all thought, all hope. And I stood there, pinned to the floor, like an insect run through by a pin, exposed, vulnerable…”

"Enzo was guided to his position in front of the altar, feeling the weight of the silent stares of the congregation already gathered in the gloom, their silhouettes barely discernible. A chill alien to the temperature ran down his back, prickling the hair on his nape.

The mirror, which before reflected the scene, now clouded completely, as if a gelid and vast breath fogged it from an unfathomable beyond. The officiant's words became a chant of gratitude, an invocation growing in power, culminating with a name that resonated in Enzo's soul with the force of a primordial blasphemy…”

“His face contracted... skin stretching over cheekbones sharpening like blades. The jaw unhinged with an audible crunch, breaking at the symphysis to make way for a snout projecting forward, slavering. Human lips pulled back, tearing at the corners, to reveal bleeding gums where teeth didn't grow: they were expelled in multiple rows, daggers of dirty, yellowish ivory

The skin of his body—the human husk—began to tear with wet, sonorous rips, like wet cloth. He lost it in bloody shreds that fell to the floor like disgusting offerings…”