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  Table of contents Issue Twenty-seven THANATOS



t happens when the moon is full. Black, charcoal hands grip the sky like Atlas holding the heavens. The air whispers secrets into my mind. Grim secrets from long ago and from times yet to be. I stop. Dead still. Listing. Relishing its dark, eerie words. The corners of my mouth curl upwards into a haunted grin, and my eyes grow wide, bulging from their sockets.

I hear the muttering of a girl. Long blond hair flows over her shoulders like a river of nectar flowing from mount Olympus. Eyes like orbs. Cerulean and sharp like Cerberus's fangs ready to bear down on whatever meat it lay its eyes onto. Face tanned and gleaming with a strange aura, seeping from her pores. Intriguingly uncanny, the vision of her embedded into my mind by my faithful servant, the wind bores itself into my soul. Like many before her and the many yet to come.

I step forward into the abyss as it envelops me. Sliding around my body until it completely consumes me, thrusting me forward. I emerge from the darkness in a city, cold and dreary. I brush the last embers off the timescape off my long, black cloak. Around me, the streets are naked, bare like something ripped all life from its cracked, cobbled body. The air guides me forward. Forward for what seems like miles into the seemingly abandoned city. I trek onwards until, finally, I find myself facing an old yet lavish estate. The gates are open, welcoming me inside. Peculiar. I find myself drawn inside like a demon to a child riddled with nightmares.

The thud of my boots echoes through the lavish hallways, embellished with intricate tapestries and maps to unknown places. The walls curve inwards, leading to a labyrinth of twists and turns, each bend leading to another and another. The floor is covered in a handsome red carpet as if I was downriver Acheron to the gates of, what I would later describe as, hell.

I stop. I hear the echo of footsteps. A loud echo, too loud for a corridor to muster. I turn another bend and find myself in a mighty hall, floors painted black. Onyx black. The walls are stained a dark red, and from the pit of this hall emerges the girl. My next kill. My victim, like so many before her. Her blond hair trails behind her as she works towards me. It shimmers in the darkroom. The only source of light. She stops but a few meters away from me. Then she speaks. The sound erupts from her mouth. Loud and unforgiving. And suddenly I feel my body paralyzed with, what? Fear? Something i have only felt on only one other occasion.


The hall shook with the power of her voice. I fall to my hands and knees, trembling in sheer terror at the mention of my name. Unable to speak I wait for her to continue.


And with that one word, I'm hit with the realization of what is about to happen. Death. The floors beneath me begin to disintegrate. Red hands grab at my ankles and pull me towards them. Below me, I see fire. I smell the singing of flesh. Grotesque bodies, some with eyes hanging out the socket and others with combusted stomachs, climb up towards me as I fall for what seems like an age.

What is happening to me now transcends any of the things I did to my victims. I sit. In the fiery depths, waiting. Hoping. Begging for it to end. For peace. For rest. But it will never be given to me. I know that now.




Ama Sangha is currently attending university to achieve an Electronic Engineering degree. Aged 21 her dreams include becoming an author and helping those less fortunate than her through engineering. Residing in Birmingham, England she has a taste for mythology, gothic literature and all things dark and haunting. For more of her work please see her blog AmaMicroFiction https://amasangha.home.blog/author/amamicrofiction/

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