My wide eyes, shining with CONVICTION, scan the darkness of the miller’s mill as I stand on the precipice.

 

Thook-thook.

 

    The soles of my metal boots sink into the wet, fleshy meat of the miller’s floor as I step into the light-less darkness of the windmill. The grinding of gears and spinning blades makes itself heard from above, the dull churning like the angstful grinding of the teeth of a man sleeping, fidgeting through restless nightmares. The sound conjoins with the damp squelching coming from the hole in the center of the room. The two sounds mixing together like the disgusting chewing of a spit-filled mouth. As if I were being chewed up and all the while, all the while in-between those disgusting sounds I hear it. The sound.

 

Thook-thook.

 

  “Yeeeeeees?” asks the miller’s voice as I step into the mill. “Oh, helloooo~ Mr. Lance-hero.” The darkness shifts as I step forward, looking for the source of the voice in the murk. Only a pale stream of light shines in from outside, but it’s not real light. It’s just a deception, just an illusion meant to deceive eyes that can’t see. It’s no more real than the darkness inside of the mill is. It all stems from the same source, it all stems from the same strong feeling in my heart of hearts. That disgusting, squelching, wet feeling. It sounds like ripping meat. It feels like ripping meat. My eyes held wide, I step forward. It feels like someone has placed their hands inside of my gut and is ripping out a single swollen, cystic organ. The strands of sinew and the thick, bloated arteries holding it in place snapping free. It’s wet. It hurts. I hate it. It hurts. I hate it. I ha-

 

“You’ve come back aloooone once again. Isn’t that just beeeeautiful?” coos the voice from the darkness and the teeth in the hole gnash and grind themselves together in agitation.

 

  I grip my lance tighter, my eyes burning with disgust as I walk around the inside of the mill, looking for the man whose voice fills the darkness. Looking for the man I hate more than any other. But he is nowhere to be seen as I circle the pit. The door doesn’t close behind me, but it doesn’t have to. It’s all the same illusion. The light isn’t real. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything that you don’t see with your own eyes. Do you see it? That faltering on the edge of the shadows? That’s where the illusion is weakest. Look? Look! I tap against the edge of a wavy shadow with the tip of my lance and the darkness recedes, as if it were a swarm of insects pushing themselves away in order to avoid being crushed. It’s not a real shadow. It’s just a thing pretending to be. It’s just a thousand things. A hundred thousand things with no eyes. Like a swarm of ants running from the rising tide. None of it is real.

 

All the beauty is fake. All the darkness is fake. All the light is fake. It’s all an illusion. It’s all… it’s all… I clutch my eye with my free hand, covering one of my sockets as I look around the room with the other one. It’s all… it’s all…

 

Where are you? My eye scans to the left. Where are you? To the right. Where are you? Above. Below. Everywhere. Nowhere. The miller is nowhere. I’m a lizard. I’m a lizard.

 

  “What convictiooooon~” coos the voice as the darkness wavers, as the shadows re-converge to rebuild the illusion. I slice through the darkness with my lance, striking where I heard the voice from not a second ago, but the blade of my weapon meets nothing but void. The music. The music it’s still playing. “Such a brave little heroooo~” I look around, searching for the source of the music. For the sound of the calliope that still plays but I see nothing. There’s no-one here but me. There’s no-one here bu-

 

  “Are yoooou going to cry~?” coos the voice behind me, instinctively I thrust the back of my lance outward, stabbing into something wet. I turn my head to look at the shaft of my lance, sticking into the wall of the mill. Into the meat that makes up the brick-work. “That wouldn’t be very beaaaautiful, you knoooow?~”

 

I spin, slicing a gash into the meat. A thick, foamy, white liquid dribbles out of the slash in the wall as I turn my head around to look.

 

“I’m not afraid of you, Miller!” I shout to the darkness.

 

  “That’s Mr. Miller to yooooou~” coos a voice into my ear and I swipe my hand, swinging my metal gauntlet out to the side. But once again I grasp nothing. There’s nothing here. There’s no-one here but me. I slash again, swiping my lance against the meat-walls and more of the froth leaks out. More of the goo leaks out, puddling together and dripping, dripping down into the maw of gnashing teeth. I hate it. I hate it. I hate him. I hate him.

 

  “When will you leaaaarn~?” asks the miller, his voice now high above me. I raise my gaze to scan the darkness above. I grip my lance tightly, shifting my hand positioning around as I glare at the void above me, as I listen to the voice, as I try to track its position in the empty. “That no-one will belieeeeeeve yooou~” It shifts, moving from side to side, swaying like a hypnotized snake. “No-one ever belieeeeved yooooou~”

 

  The voice whispers into my ear. “Yoooou can’t save anyone~ Because they can’t see.” The floor groans, as the meat begins to stir and to shift, as the thing that rests below begins to awaken to the ugly truth. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. My fingers grip the lance, the only thing I have. It’s the only thing I have. It’s the only thing that’s real.

 

With eyes that shine bright, I arc my arm back further and launch the lance upward, as far as I can, as high as I can, as hard as I can. With everything I feel in my heart, with that strong feeling, with that hate. Hate. Hate. HATE!

 

  Something screams and a lone silhouette falls down from above, plummeting to the ground and the miller lands at my feet, the wet frothy goo splashing as he lands in a puddle of it. The pale, vampyric man clutches the lance in his chest and I grab it, ripping it out as he screams. He screams. He screams. I laugh as I wrench it back, as I hear his ribs break. I hate him. I hate him. The scream shifts into a laugh as he opens his eyes to look at me.

 

“Yoou never had it in yooou~” coos the miller, laughing as I raise my lance again and hover the tip above his left eye. “You were never strooong enough to fight. Not like she waaaas~”

 

I HATE -

 

The miller screams as the lance plunges down into his eye, but not deep enough to kill him. Just enough to crack the thin bones on either end of his socket. His scream stops and he laughs again as I lift the lance back up to hover over the other one.

 

“Yooo-“

 

  The miller screams as I gouge out his other eye, twisting the lance just a little to scrape against the edges of his sockets. Pulling the lance back out, I jam it into his ribs and thrust, sliding his body down towards the hole. Towards the maw and he falls in, his hands gripping the ledge as he looks up towards me, dangling there, the teeth below him gnashing and churning in agitation. He laughs.

 

“It doesn’t matter! Noooone of it matters! Because it’s tooooo late! You’re toooo late~ !” He smiles, knowing in his heart of hearts that he’s already won. But that’s just his view of the world, that’s just what he sees as he stares into my dead eyes.

 

But something is different now. I’m different now.

 

His expression changes as he sees me, as he sees me standing high atop the apex of the world, glaring down at him with contempt. With hate. With retribution. With CONVICTION.

 

“I’m not afraid of you, Miller.” I tell him, lowering my lance, my true eyes locking on to his. “Because,” I lift my boot up high. “I have something to believe in.”

 

  His skull cracks as I slam the sole of my foot down onto his forehead with everything I have in me and Miller falls down into the maw, screaming, screaming, screaming. Screaming as the teeth tear him apart, screaming as the sinew and meat rips. Screaming as his bones crack and are ground in sharp fragments and I watch, I watch, I watch with such a strong feeling in my chest as Miller turns into a fine goo, as the red and black and green of his body, of his humours, are all mixed into a paste, as the white dripping from the walls intermingles with the disgusting concoction. All four of them coming together.

 

Is it a metaphor?

 

Maybe.

 

I narrow my eyes as I watch him be devoured, as the world begins to rumble.

 

But that doesn’t matter. It’s real enough for me. I hold my shaking hand against my chest.

 

Thook-thook.

 

 

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