After an aeon, the flow from the jug of drain cleaner slowed and stopped.
Small welts bubbled under the milky slime. As it sloughed from my outstretched limbs, She watched, skull cocked, hand on hip. The scars She'd set out to scour still showe(more)d vivid under the vitriolic glaze.
My joints shook in the unyielding grasp of the winged Chtulhus. My eyes rolled toward Disease, who seemed to be thinking.
Oven cleaner, She murmured.
She turned, smooth legs scissoring toward the avocado-tiled kitchen, to rummage under the sink. The Chutlhus each looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and loosened their grip, and I slunk out of the vinyl-upholstered kitchen chair she'd pushed me into, and crawled out the swinging, plastic door of the trailer at the edge of the Abyss.
On my knees, and hands, I crawled along the edge of the trailer, toward the sign billowing in the wrecked sky.
"Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."
The banner floated above and beyond the top of the black, twisting tree that had crashed in the yard pocked by rusting automobile carcasses. A lace of mildew appeared over the words, and was burnt away by black flame, again and again.
Haltingly, one ear on Her knocking about in the evil under-sink cabinet, I scuttled on all fours toward the banner waving above a gap in the trees at the edge of the yard.
As I passed from the muggy, electrified air into the dark and quiet of the small wood, I barely registered the porcelain spikes protruding from the sandy soil, or glittering overhead from between deep green branches.
A bank of closed-circuit TV's glided out from between cicada-heavy branches. On the screens, I saw two domestic scenes, the horrors of which I can't begin to describe.