03-26-2014, 12:46 PM
Here's another idea I had. I'm going to expand on it at some point. I apologize for any errors.
At the age of thirty-five I seemed to have the perfect life. A loving wife and two beautiful children greeted me each morning and would bid me pleasant dreams each night. The only obstacle to my continued bliss was my recent unemployment, but I was determined not to let this hiccup bring me down. After all, it gave me something that was severely lacking in my life. It gave me time. So, naturally, I perceived this as a blessing. Along with their greetings, I was free to spend my days with my children, going on daring adventures using only the power of imagination. Seeing their laughter and innocence warmed me to my core. It also made what I did necessary. It was a few weeks into our daily adventures when I first noticed the marks on their hands. At first, I dismissed them as bug bites, trying not to let my unburdened mind jump to insane conclusions. As time went on, the marks grew and morphed, Soon their hands weren't their hands, but rather green, scaly imitations. We stopped going outside after that. I had to protect them. I had to save them. The worse it became, the less they were themselves. Whatever had hold of them was replacing childish laughter with hushed tones and horror-filled looks. They wouldn't even let me near them. Then their eyes turned black as night. I was terrified to look into those dark globes of oblivion. It was in that moment knew how to save them. The only way to save who they were. In the dead of night I crept to their room. I couldn't save them both, not at once. I made my way to the closest bed. My son's bed. The pillow I placed over his face was an instrument of salvation, it was peace. I pressed down until the demonic feet stopped kicking and made my way to the next bed, salvation in hand.
At the age of thirty-five I seemed to have the perfect life. A loving wife and two beautiful children greeted me each morning and would bid me pleasant dreams each night. The only obstacle to my continued bliss was my recent unemployment, but I was determined not to let this hiccup bring me down. After all, it gave me something that was severely lacking in my life. It gave me time. So, naturally, I perceived this as a blessing. Along with their greetings, I was free to spend my days with my children, going on daring adventures using only the power of imagination. Seeing their laughter and innocence warmed me to my core. It also made what I did necessary. It was a few weeks into our daily adventures when I first noticed the marks on their hands. At first, I dismissed them as bug bites, trying not to let my unburdened mind jump to insane conclusions. As time went on, the marks grew and morphed, Soon their hands weren't their hands, but rather green, scaly imitations. We stopped going outside after that. I had to protect them. I had to save them. The worse it became, the less they were themselves. Whatever had hold of them was replacing childish laughter with hushed tones and horror-filled looks. They wouldn't even let me near them. Then their eyes turned black as night. I was terrified to look into those dark globes of oblivion. It was in that moment knew how to save them. The only way to save who they were. In the dead of night I crept to their room. I couldn't save them both, not at once. I made my way to the closest bed. My son's bed. The pillow I placed over his face was an instrument of salvation, it was peace. I pressed down until the demonic feet stopped kicking and made my way to the next bed, salvation in hand.