A contribution by Ashley2

Your feet are melting.

Your boots were the first things to go. Wading through the mire of mud and spit, digestive enzymes swiftly soaked through the flimsy leather, swallowing chunks of it with every step.

We stumble past blurry silhouettes. Structures, ships, television sets, sirens. Distant crashes and cries assault your ears from all sides.

Next came the socks, and soon after, the skin. The embrace of slime against sinew is numbing, painless, nearly soothing. Our heart races, eyes darting, desperately scanning the narrow horizon.

Our ankle strikes steel, revealing a the mast of a great vessel emerging from the slurry. Hands scramble for purchase and begin to scale for salvation.

Upwards, we scale the pole to its peak. Above the fog, above the stench of consumption. Here, the muddled whispers greet us with wretched clarity. It's your voice, whispering excitedly with us. Ripe with anticipation.

The ground rumbles.

There is a sinking feeling in our gut.

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