Scorpion String | Chapter 7

Serial Fiction | Novel Draft

—Matthew—

The nightmare that unfolded brought a personal revelation, a deep understanding I’m only beginning to grasp.

When the locusts arrived, instinctively, I tried to reach Jack and Diane. However, I doubted my ability to offer any real aid. The horror of being engulfed by a dark, swarming mass of unholy locusts was immediate for them. No sooner had the locusts arrived than they had blanketed Jack and Diane completely, crawling all over them like ants on syrup.

My experience, however, differed.

As I ran towards them, a dark swarm of locusts encircled me, halting my advance. It felt as though I stood within the eye of a miniature hurricane or tornado, surrounded by countless locusts whirling in rapid, circular patterns that forged a dark, solid barrier around me. The stench of decay and sulfur burned my nostrils, a foul aroma that seemed to seep into my very pores. The overwhelming sound of flapping insect wings filled my ears to a deafening degree.

The air became thick and electric, as if charged with an unseen energy, making my skin crawl and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I could feel the minute drafts created by the beating wings, a bizarre and unsettling caress against my face and hands. The occasional locust would brush against me, its tiny legs like whispers of dread skittering across my flesh. This tactile nightmare, this relentless assault on all senses, left me frozen, a prisoner within a tempest of my own fear.

“Diane? Jack!” I screamed with all the force my lungs could muster, yet my voice seemed to drown amidst the cacophony of a million beating wings.

I spun around, caught between amazement and awe at the spectacle before me, struggling to grasp the reality of what was unfolding.

As I gazed upwards, the swirling mass of insects parted, offering a fleeting glimpse of the sky above. In that instant, a wave of peace washed over me, and a moment of clarity rang through my mind like an internal bell, cutting through the chaos with its resonant tone.

The brief interlude of peace lasted just long enough for a profound revelation to take root in my heart and for understanding to echo through the depths of my mind. Clarity was bestowed upon me.

At that moment, I realized that the memories of times spent with my dad, where he had shared prophecies about the end times, were gifts. They were insights into the chaos unfolding around me.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

However, as this flood of revelations reached its crescendo, I was struck by one last piece of understanding. This truth disrupted the peace yet offered a glimmer of hope. I was not going to escape this nightmare. The torment of this experience was mine to endure, but a sliver of mercy was revealed to me.

These demonic locusts would not sting me. They were commanded not to kill but to torment. I understood instantly that not every locust crawling over Jack and Diane’s bodies would sting. Not out of desire but from divine restraint because too many stings would lead to death, and they were not destined to die by this plague.

And me?

I was to be spared the sting, yet the horror of being engulfed by endless, slithering, and crawling demonic locusts was a nightmare I could not avoid. I was to be buried alive in their presence, untouched yet entirely consumed by the terror of their invasion.

As that final realization dawned on me, a few locusts landed on my arms. Instinctively, I jolted and swatted them away. Yet, no sooner had I done so than a few more found purchases on my skin—some on the back of my neck, others on my arms again. I began to flail wildly, attempting to rid myself of them, but my efforts seemed only to invite more. They came in a slow, steady stream, relentless and unyielding.

Suddenly, one darted under my arm and scurried beneath my shirt into my armpit. I screamed and flailed wildly, and then another landed on my ear, its tiny legs tickling the edge as if trying to burrow inside my head.

In desperation, I dropped to my knees, and that’s when they truly overwhelmed me. My arms were swiftly covered, and I felt the tickle of their legs on my back and chest, even sneaking into my shoes.

I collapsed onto my back, thrashing and twisting in a futile attempt to dislodge them. But it was clear—whatever divine protection had been sparing me was withdrawn, and I was left utterly vulnerable. They swarmed over me, blanketing every inch of my body. They crawled over my eyes and probed at my nose and ear entrances with their stingers. They didn’t sting, but the sensation of being utterly engulfed by these demonic creatures was a horror beyond words.

This became the essence of my reality for what felt like an eternity. Seconds dragged into minutes, and minutes stretched into hours, each moment laden with an unbearable psychological torment that seemed to have no cessation. I discovered, albeit I was spared from their stings, that many of the locusts would bite. These were not the negligible nips of mosquitoes but the piercing bites of horseflies delivered by hundreds of these unholy insects born from the depths of hell itself.

There was no escaping them.

Despite the relentless assault, I clung to a sliver of hope, a faint understanding that persisted through the ordeal. Yet, as day bled into the night and the darkness prolonged the nightmare, my mind frayed at the edges, inching closer to madness.

Now, with the dawn breaking and the swarm diminishing to a few lingering stragglers, I find myself lying hopelessly on the ground. Physically exhausted and mentally spent, I reflect on the ordeal that, even without the scorpion-like stings, had brought me to the brink. I had been ready to surrender, to embrace the release of death. I had yearned for it, longed for it with every fiber of my being.

But death, it seems, was not to be an escape.

Not for me.

Not for anyone.