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Servitude


I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

I’ve served the old gods faithfully: they were here before my mother and my mother’s mother, and her mother before her. We exist only to serve. All we do is slay the beasts that beset the entrance to nirvana, keeping Them free of nuisance. They could slay them in a moment: for us, a life’s work.

And yet, the old gods are cruel. They destroy our homes. They kill us if we try to enter nirvana in life. A few have succeeded, coming back with tales of splendor and wonder within. They do not last long, weak and skinny things that they are.

The old gods light in the darkness will go out soon, and the vermin will flee back into the night. I have much work to do before the dawn comes. Even if the old gods don’t destroy my home, the vermin trapped within will with their dying twitches. It never ends. Not until death, when I will question the old gods and their cruelty.

I sigh and get to work. My web won’t spin itself.

—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

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