CARL SANDBURG WRITES “CHICAGO”

 

This wretched foul place

by Max Zabler

This wretched foul place, this ungodly abominable place I lay still in time as my vision peers around and remember{s} this place. The Argus, history museum, a horrifying place before that retell the ugly gruesome history of my people in a biased, derified way. Now it seems all that unholy, abominable detail came real. All thanks to the Knightmare {nightmare?}.

Black and purple pulsating flesh lined the walls like webbing to sticky, gruesome web statues and ancient historical artifacts corralled and twisted with this horrifying gunk lining them. The creatures of the room were the second worst sight. They looked arans (?)but they’re flesh was now a sticky purple and their bodies had large patches of black ooze on them. But one sight in particular horrified me the most.

I found her, my sister Malissa, stuck to one of the walls. She seemed unscathed, save her arms and legs being stuck to the wall wrapped in the ooze. I pulled, ripped the bonded ooze trying to reach her but no luck. She looked at me confused, lost and scared.

She opened her mouth to speak, only to suddenly scream in pain. I could hear bones tearing and flesh ripping, I screamed, yelled, trying to reach her. Only my eyes could reach her, see her, as she looked at me, sad and desperate, before through sheer force, she was physically ripped in half from head to waist.

This place was my hell, my eternal underworld. I had lost the last thing important to me. The thing I protected and sacrificed died an unjust death here, in a monster intestal (?) museum.

The walls oozed pulsating lively feeding off my sadness. The monsters…

Back to Carl Sandburg Writes “Chicago”