Night Crawler

Book idea: First page

He rocked himself back and forth on the old, wooden chair. His head felt like it were about to implode. Thoughts and images flooded his mind. And the constant memories of his past kept haunting him like a hell hound ripping through interstellar dimension just to find its prey. Death seemed to be near, accosting him; he swore. His face turned a deep dark red and his eyes bulged as he squeezed his head at the temple in a vague attempt to snuff it all out. In that moment of madness, he was about ready to end his life.

“Make it stop, make it stop!” he screamed from deep inside his lungs, breathing heavily. His mad man screams ricocheted through his laboratory.

That was his first experience at a transformation. It had been the most painful, not only by inflicting him with extreme pain, but by twisting his mind as well. It was the last time he resembled anything human, not by appearance, but by emotion and reason. Once the pain disappeared, he dared take a look at his reflection. Not even the rampant tears that overwhelmed his face could diminish the insane horror he felt. His hands trembled as he tried to hide his face, but something, an overpowering inner demon, kept prying them open.

Look at what you have become.

Everything changed with time; faster than ever. As more and more of his transformations took place, it became obvious that he would have to find a way to embrace the tragic change. But how could he? Often times during his experiments in the lab, he rummaged through his notes trying to find a solution, or a simple explanation. It was inhumanly possible what took place. How? he questioned.

It had almost two weeks since he had experienced those nightmares. As far as he remembered, everything seemed to become blurry, just like getting caught up in a flurry of fragmented memories of a nightmare. Black and white segments of a horror movie seemed to have invaded his conscious, and ultimately what truly haunted him the most was the inability to distinguish between dreams and reality.

He sat down on the cold, metal bar stool and leaned over the operating table. While rummaging through some notes, he managed to clear a small area of the glass table, showing a slight glimpse of rotten flesh below. He picked up the papers and cleared the table, glancing into the glass enclosure below.

She’s beginning to rot. I must be losing my mind, there is no way I could have saved her.

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