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Mycelium

Something I wrote a while ago and thought it was perfect to share this October.

Contents: ???, I don't even know, death, literally the plague, rot, some fungi talk because I LOVE FUNGI, romantic undertones, kissing death on the mouth basically, Dead Dove... ? possibly...?

366 words

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Loving a Plague God was impossible. Beautiful all they were, in the way that they drifted mysteriously along the wind in the distance. Like a loose flag long gone from its pole, floating away on a misty wind, tattered, rotting. Beautiful all they were when they visited your village, desecrated it, and wore you down to nothing but madness and want. The stench of death wormed its way up your nose as they left only you standing, stranded, among a slew of strewn corpses. No blood, for this was not a battle. This was the silent and deadly work of poison. Rot on the air. Rot that seeped from every inch of their beautiful skin. Why was a Plague God so beautiful? So fair? So gentle? Gentle only in mannerisms. Their nature was sadistic and frenzied. You’d grown familiar with their slow, wide grin. Milky white eyes ever-watching as the living deteriorated into nothing but bloated corpses and the droning lull of flies.

Nothing left, you pleaded with them to take you too. Nothing left, they smiled slow and patiently… purple lips pulled taught you thought they might split. They never did.

They took you slow, a savoring kiss that tasted of copper and smelled of pungent death, lips as cold as the corpses left behind, and fingers even colder. You felt it, with every scratch, every nick of their teeth, every bite, and every glide of that slimy necrosing tongue… the itch that spread out under your skin like a thousand wriggling worms.

You too, would be one with the rot. One with the fungi that sprouted dutifully from the fallen. You too, would fall. Those spores would spread and spread, their hyphae seeping through the cracks in your mind, sprouting from every cut and bruise left behind from those final touches, those final pleasures. You become them… and they become it… and we are the rot and the death and the sprouting stalks that burst forth from bloated bodies. Glittering caps of white and orange, purple and green, like the decomposing flesh slowly seeping back whence it came. Down to the earth, to the dark, to the rot.

Left behind by yours truly,

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