a/n: The following story has neither morals nor true message. It is as incomplete as the evolution of the universe in which we live in. Its only purpose is to send ice-cubes of frozen sewage down your long-johns. However, the perseverant Reader just might reach the trinket in the spoiled box of crackerjacks that this tale is. Along the way, it’s possible that you will say ‘What the hell?! The author is disturbed or perhaps he has tripped one-too-many-times on ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’”. Rest assured, he takes in zero intoxicants or stimulants. An avid teetotaler, and human rights activist, he is a lover of animals and other soft, fluffy things. In fact, the author is a pleasant enough chap altogether. However, he knows that he must cater to all audiences, even those that derive pleasure in depravity. He, personally, ‘is above it’, but he loves to capture the imagination, even if it’s the disturbing kind. Be prepared to be confused, befuddled, and perplexed by the origins of the darkness depicted in the words you are about to masticate upon. And so, without further adieu, I give you ‘THE ALGRAMATHER’
THE ALGRAMATHER
By Flat-faced Snorbelgorf, All rights reserved 1972.
‘The Algramather’ is the term given to the apocalyptic civilization-blight that occurred between the years Q.I.O. 11875 and Q.I.O. 9565. Long ago, there was a ‘today’. And what a ‘today’ it was! But not now. ‘Today’ no longer exists by any sense of the word. Now there is only detritus and diuretics. But residing within the filth of the present, a thin, oh so thin! vein of splendor which only really belongs in the distant past, hides. Her name is Luvicrin. In this moment, unfortunately, the majority of beings are so horrendous that one would wish they had never pictured them within their abruptly-agitated brain-works. Let us begin with the blood-raven: A dirty, foul-mouthed beast, it consumes only bone. However, it regurgitates, diurnally, expletives such as ‘Krock-chucker!’ And ‘splass-mazer!’ The passing ear is inevitably incensed by the vile verbiage. Then there is the Great Eraser. What a monstrosity by every definition of the word! It consumes love and any vestige of the emotion. Its output is fear. And what about the Queen of the Inveigled and Objurgated? We’ll get to her later. Let’s begin with that damned bird mentioned earlier.
The superannuated blood-raven and its beady red eyes tell of a million lifetimes of suffering. Nearly too old to work for its sustenance the raptor simply decays. It scavenges within the night-soil for the nutritious and delicious marrow and periosteum within the endoskeleton of vermin-vertebrates. Enough about the damn flying carnivore for now. Next: the people. People, but not people: Zombies. Just kidding. Once sanguine hearts are now defalcated and buried beneath the very same waste and clay that the blood-raven pokes its serrated beak into. Actually, the people that remain are like zombies for they no longer have the fire of purpose burning within them. Incessant trickles of chalky, lithium cyano-nitrate tears escape the melancholy eyes of humanity in this age of pain.
There is an onlooker to the misery: the Great Eraser and its nothingface. It gazes forlornly with drooping lips of dread. It yearns to consume all adulation, affection and amity (although there is barely any of that left now-a-days). In return it will inexorably excrete the darkest of shadows. There is a sadness. The sadness is of emptiness. This can be characterized by the color ‘off-white,’ the letter ‘Q’ and the symbol of the dirk, a cruel Scottish dagger once used to usurp the life-thread of the beloved Duke of Chutney. A horrid anti-lambency slithers like torpid flames across the surface of the violated planet. Volcanic eruptions spew hot magma and suffocating ash into the atmosphere, obfuscating the little hope that escapes from the sun in the form of heat.
It wasn’t always like this. There once was one who reigned over a kind of utopia with a clenched fist of tolerance. But a vision of supremacy crept into her mind that would not be titrated even by agápē. Then, very rapidly, all the bliss of civilization was methodically crushed into an insipid powder within her vice-like grip. Today, she is known as Gretchamel, AKA, Queen of the Inveigled and Objurgated. She was the accursed wench who siphoned all the love from the youth with the help of the nothingface. Before The Algramather, an earlier generation had her constrained by solidarity, yet she brewed up dissidence which teased-apart the vigilant eyes from the apathetic, and she escaped in the form of agony and despair. She became Destitution incarnate: the one that bends the will of the dastardly Great Eraser to do her bidding.
She was also a cannibal. Every afternoon, at high-tea time, she would dip fleshy lips, ripped off her harvested slaves, into her scalding-hot Oolong Tea. They tasted better that way, much like an Oreo cookie would when dunked in milk. She had a penchant for babbling nonsense to her reflection. For this reason, she had mirrors set up everywhere. Along the cobblestone streets of Grouser and Hackbut there were at least 852 mirrors of all shapes and forms. They also facilitated in spying on her unhappy subjects. All in all, her actions snowballed into an avalanche of destruction, pestilence and pollution that carries itself into the now.
To be continued…
a/n: To read other ominous tales by Flat-faced Snorbelgorf click here
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