• His eyes glow red with the burning hot intensity of the earth's core, his fingers crooked, his limbs all hacked and mangled, and his mind squirming and twisting into the most awful, and gruesome contingencies...

    * * *

    The year is 1323, London, Europe... During the peak of the epidemic known as the Bubonic Plague... Brought by rat and flea, and spread by human breath, he was a young boy about 10, and his parents had been burned just a few years ago to prevent anymore spreading of the disease... The boy’s conscious was rising over the brim with grief and misery, he had to watch the slow and horrifying 8 years of turmoil his parents were to subdue, they had only just recently caught the plague, for it had only just reached their small town, they thought they were safe, little did they know... Now their small town was reduced to a meager 15 people populous, and the boy being only one person, could not stand to see the others suffer. For some strange miracle, the boy had NOT caught the most Human depleting disease, EVER to consume more than HALF of the WORLD... One rainy morning, smoke rising from the air as the midnight fires of the most recent 2 victims to fall at Death's hand, were slowly put out by the substantial downpour... The boy looked around at the fast depleting population that not even a rat could have called a village, and something snapped, something that kept the boy tied to reality... he rushed into his house, retrieved a smoldering piece of firewood, he glared down at the rising mud, and sauntered over to the first mediocre hut he saw, and burned the small house to the ground, not caring to see if there was anyone inside... Though all the village lay in a cascading inferno of ash, and ember... The boy stood right in the middle of his hut, and waited for it to subside... The boy fell to a deep sleep before the fire ended, and fell into his most recent nightmare of his parents cremation, that night he rose from the ash and cringed at the sight of the sun, for there was no longer any shelter to provide his morning shade... When the boy attempted to climb out of what remained of the hut, he realized he was charred from head to toe, his appendages were twisted this way, and that... his fingers and toes all bent back half way, but bent forward again to end in sharp razor edges... And his clothes all hung off his limp, black body like shredded ribbon... Some say that the boy died from brain trauma when too much ash cluttered his cranium... Yet most still believe that the monster lives to walk in the dreams of frightened children of our modern children... known only as... the Boogieman...

    Written by,
    "The Boy"… twisted