The rats, the bloody rats...
He hears them, squelching through the trunks of the trees. It was preposterous to mishear them.
Squeak, squeak, squeak, they went.
Miniscule voices, drowning, compressing into one another with the occasional screams of a rodent. Could man even hear such a thing? It were so high-pitched, so rampant, an anomaly for rodents did not deserve to scream as insects did not deserve to speak.
Frenzied hands, disgustingly mutated, pressed together tightly in prayer. Thus, did angel skin peel back from hog teeth but no words came forth from the blackened tongue. They couldn't. He did not deserve to speak for the angels instructed him not to. A vow of eternal silence in compensation of the mercy of the Eldritch Truths. The insects did not obey. Rebellious traitors.
The rats, they grew louder. A thousand eyes saw them, saw their heads by the masses writhing with jaws agape. They kept screaming, screaming, screaming, they wouldn't stop.
He pressed another set of hands to his ears and so did he bray like a great terror not matching the description of vicar much less prophet. A boisterous scenario.
. . .
Hundreds of great feathers trembled as the eyes opened. He felt them, the worms in his stomach. They gave him... a rather warm feeling inside. He no longer felt empty, it made him smile. Nestled they were, far in the back of his throat and if he were to open wide, anyone would be able to see them. Careful, he must be! He'd not want them to escape. Not like the moths which fluttered on wound-up wings.
There was a buzzing in his eardrums, all four of them, as the unsightly beast rose from his collapse. His skin, it was peeling off. It always has and he'd have to stitch it back together to shove himself back inside.
He had lost his crown long ago so at least his head were lighter. No longer was it a struggle to lift nor did he have to worry about a tangled mane. Repetitively, the thought cycled through his head, "Give me my halo and take your rusted crown."
Problem was...
The Earth sung to him that noontide, not yet swept away by the starry ocean. How kind it was and yet, so very cruel. Massive bones popped and cracked, a reverberating gnarl escaping clacking jowls brimmed with teeth. It was low like rolling thunder but had a shrill edge to it. How frightening.
The animals knew better than to be in the presence of one whom stared up into Heaven. Scarcely were they spotted around, especially so when his skin lay in shambles on the grass cuddling his limbs. No, his company were the insects which buzzed by his ears. The birds didn't like him very well, perching on the eyes. Voices flooded his head, each different and each assigned. The hymns, he dubbed them. He listened to them, sometimes. He had no choice but to.
An accursed creature, idling in the field. Some may find him weeping but do not get too close. The worms are recorded of being fiercely protective of their host. Sometimes, he'd die momentarily but only for five seconds. Then, the eyes opened again. A constant cycle.
