Black sluge creeps up his skin consuming his essence. Soon there will be nothing left except an empty shell.
Yet he persists a testament to his humanity a stubborn pride that burns like a small flame.
He sees nothing ahead of him but still he continues to struggle taking step after step in hopes of finding his own light. Maybe at one point he posessed such a light but now it's gone.
He sees things now shapes starting to form out of the darkness. The shapes get clearer with every excruciating step they begin to resemble faces.
They leer at him with false smiles speaking worthless words. "Things are fine as they are" why are you still trying some pepole just aren't cut out for it.
"Shut up" he whispers trying to drown them out but to no avail the voices keep streaming in with each one forcing him to his knees.
With his face pushing to to the inky darkness the sludge begins to enter his lungs choking the last bit of soul out of him. All he can hear now is their eerie laughter consuming his spark.
He is lost like so many others before him nameless and forgotten.