E R Robin Dover

Scarab of the Black Vatican E R Robin Dover

Hands moved over me - cold, rough, unforgiving hands. Multiplying fingers and thumbs pressed against me, pushing and shifting my body, manipulating, rotating, controlling, dragging. My crushed, deliquesced body continued to sink, pulled away into oblivion, sucked deeper into the mire. My feet were pulled up, vertical. I was headed down, straight into the earth. Muddy gravel scraped against my flesh, tearing it away, gripping me. My body turning - tearing. It grew faster until I was spinning - drilling into the earth. My body turned to mush, being juggled, directed and carried until in the final moment, I was thrown away, into the void, no more than a dirty rag.