There’s a fog today on the rim of insanity. Not as thick as it has been but still, it is enough to hide the monsters.
My mother always told me there were no monsters. Well, to be fair, there were no monsters under my bed or in my closet.
But I’ve seen them.
Their silhouettes haunt me from time to time, though the circumstances of their appearance have faded my memory, long as it is.
They slobber, but I can’t hear it. They grin with all the sleaze of a con man find his last mark or a player managing to get the one woman he could not. They practically glow when they grin, which places most people into a hypnotic trance.
But not me.
I see through them. I see their deceit and their treachery. I see their bloodlust and their greed.
But most of all, I see their vanity, the greatest, yet most celebrated, of all their vices.
Maybe I’m immune to their glow. Whether that is a curse or a blessing, I don’t know.
I see their gods. No, not abstract concepts but actual, physical gods made of stone and metal. They have no life and that is just the way they like them.
I have witnessed their rituals, set down by their forefathers, and seen the glee with which they engage in them. It is almost a religious experience for them.
I have walked into their private corridors and seen their priests. I have heard their words and find the lies distasteful to my ears.
The monsters lie behind the fog.
I know they are there, waiting, dreaming, and praying to their blasphemous idols.
Meanwhile I sit here waiting and watching.
The fog will lift soon and the sun will come out.
And we shall see the monsters again.
