Deep, Meaningful Title

Pain. All is pain. All that has ever been or ever will be is pain. You have no name, no past, present, or future. In some forgotten dream, you made an error, and for that, they have awakened you. Everything has been stripped away but the truth. This is your eternity.

You scream. You have no lungs to draw the breath, no mouth to make the sounds, but you scream. With every agony-blinded sense, with every fiber of your being, every ounce of will you have, you scream two words, again and again.

You will never be heard. Truth after truth, punishments made worse for even this futile act of defiance. Nerves split apart atom by atom and put back together wrong. It changes nothing. You will never be free. 

You scream and you scream, long after you have forgotten how, after the very meaning of the words has faded to nothingness and pain. It is all you have. So you focus on them, focus until nothing else is left. 

Just two words.

What a fool you've been. What a damned, contemptible fool. To think you could simply hide, just keep your head down and stay out of the way, and the horrorterrors would let you be. You betrayed them, made them unspeakable promises, and then tricked them out of their payment. Thinking you could ever run far enough to escape them was foolish.

If you'd spent all your days and nights, every waking moment, hiding and covering your track and laying false scents, then maybe, just maybe, you might have been able to survive a few decades before they reached you. "But then they'd just make me regret those years all the more, wouldn't they?" Facing down doom, with no one to hear you but the black eternity, you still find time for sarcasm. A coping mechanism, of course. You try not to let yourself think about what it's coping for.

The things pursuing you have no face, no eyes to see you fleeing down the corridors, no ears to hear your panting and the beat of your heart. And yet, they find you all the same. It is a game to them, to send you scurrying like a rat, towards a hope you know you will not find. You cannot say how long they keep you this way, whether it takes hours or days for them to tire of your struggle, or mere minutes. Perhaps they've bent the time over itself again and again, leaving you in this terrible flight for years or longer.

Eventually, you tire, or bore them, or your legs give out from under you. You don't remember. Maybe all of them. And then the darkness has you. There is no time to scream, no time to call out for help or beg for mercy you will not receive. The horrorterrors have you now.