Everything is connected, even if its not directly connected, if you pull on it, something, somewhere else will move, it's the law of magnetism. Yet, there are some that say it's just chaos, randomness, disconnected thoughts jotted hastily by an unfocused mind... that's what they would've said had they ignored the pull... The ignorant moved, and my keyboard was the lure.
"Darkness." A single voice shouted out, the void, that monstrous maw of emptiness every person felt inside them during the dark times, swallowed the word whole. The voice belonged to a child, dressed in a long night shirt, emblazoned with DeadPool's face on it.
"Darkness!" The child shouted again, angry with their futile efforts to make the void move, or react, to their voice. they scrunched up their face, took a deep breath, and shouted the word as loud as they could, letting every muscle and tendon on their tiny neck fuel the words power.
"DARKNESS!" They screamed, letting their voice trail into the voids infinite emptiness, letting the word fill their being until there wasn't any breath left in their lungs to make the sound of the word.
The child collapsed, the emptiness underneath their hands and feet seeming solid, or it may have been their imagination for all they knew.
Void of light.
Absence of warmth.
Lacking of anything that may have given the child in the long shirt hope, crushed downwards, a low rumble from every angle shuddered outwards.
The child looked up, his mind focused on the thing they feared, the thing they admired, the thing that would both heal and hart them.
A shadow of whiteness, as if torn from construction paper, smelling of anger and booze, sloshed forward.
The movements liquid.
Filled with every ill intent that could've been made possible, had there been any love in the white shadows eyes.
In its right hand, was a half emptied bottle of booze.
In its left hand, a cooking iron, dried blood caked on the bottom.
The child shuddered, slowly backed into a corner, wondering if this night, the void would finally claim their soul, or if they might live through the violence of another night, to call out to the darkness again and again, wishing for their suffering to end.
"You called..." The white shadow roared, its voice neither masculine or feminine, neither parental or sibling like in nature, just a flat contemplation of the action it might take on the whim of an instinct.
The child stood, scared, cowering in the furthest corner, the void losing the endless darkness it once held just a few minutes prior as a light flicked on, blinding, bright, filling every dark place, obliteration any shadow.
"What do you wish of me?" The white shadow blared out, wavering, like a flag atop a hilly peak.
"You wish I tell you a story?" There was an anger to the voice, a callous heartlessness that stung and swatted away the happiness of the child in the deadpool shirt.
"Which will it be? Something from a far away dream? Some horror from reality that will no doubt scar you? Or would you rather a bleak nightmare with no hope of correction?" The child screamed as the white shadow rushed forward towards them, half emptied bottle of booze raised to its mouth, cooking iron raised as if it were a club to bring down on futilely weak prey, a darkness in their eyes.
The child tried once more to call out to the Darkness, as if something might spare them this unfathomable fate.
"Darkness!" They screamed over and over again, the shadows slowly encroaching on the blinding bleakness that pervaded every corner of the room.
"Tell me, little one! Tell me your fear, your pain, your sorrow, that I might lap it up, as a dog might lap the water to survive! I bore you into this world, and I demand nightly tribute, either through scarred flesh, or traumatized mentality!" The white shadow screamed as it brought the cooking iron down with all its strength the boozed up body could muster.
It missed by a fraction of an inch.
The second swing connected against the child's head.
The pain flooding their mind.
The force of the blow snapping the neck.
Toppling the child like a dropped rag doll, with no time to even react.
The white shadow smiled widely, sickly, happy for the outcome that was to be. It wavered, it fell, its own head impacting a wall too close, bending its neck backwards at a pace far too fast and inadvertently snapping it's own neck. the words of the white shadow echoed brilliantly as the light was destroyed, the illumination shattering as the Child and its killer along with the room, shattered into three parts of the whole.
"Dream, Reality, Nightmare... Choose your path, little one, and endure the strain of the journey you undertake, my only treasure." The white shadow whispered as the last of its energy screamed away, the life in its eyes fading fast.
The soul of the Child became a beam of light, shooting towards a place of multicolored fog, sparkling like a new born star fresh from the womb of the universe.
The room became a thorny trio of vines, reaching towards another similar room, where another child was standing, lifeless eyes flickering in and out of focus.
The white shadow became a sickly, boiling, bubbling, diseased looking liquid, slopping downwards towards a glowing red mist, where howls of anger, hunger, terror, and fear swam through the final destination of all those that might thrive in such an environment.
A fresh soul was born through the scant remains of the all three paths combined energies.
"Dream, Reality, Nightmare..."