THE SPECTRE KAILA PHILO
A shaky dread teetering and tittering to the cadence of teeth chatter. She was composed ex nihilo, comprised only of specks of flesh and anguish. A husk in suspense; a groundless voice pontificating to an empty room, positing nothing, encompassing nowhere, miasmic in nature.
She could only be consumed through the air so those who entered her exited soon after, for who wants an intangible woman? What is she but noise?
She was noise, in fact, as in this room she spoke in capitalization:
I BELIEVE IN THE CREATION OF THINGS AND THE DESTRUCTION SOON TO FOLLOW
This was the freedom given to none-things and yet it was enough. Or not enough. She couldn’t help but evade her own sense. She was once a thing but there was a continuation stirring beneath the skin and a continuation cannot be bound: it began spilling from her fingernails and pores and tear ducts until she existed in holes—not those regular ol’ fleshy holes but the large, misplaced, gaping orifices you’re probably imagining—until one day she was given enough space to let the cosmogyny of she play into full effect.
Once a man walked into the room looking for light; his was a dark room in which he was afraid of what lurked, feared the ungovernable, including the sea and sky. “They’re overwhelming,” he said to a friend, putting a cigarette out on his wrist. “They overwhelm us to death. Literally!”
“Literally.” The friend nodded.
He entered this room of bellows and found:
WHAT IS THE CREATION OF THINGS IF NOT AN INSURRECTION AGAINST NATURE
Overwhelming! However, he looked around the room and found its creases, its lines, its space visible through its punctuation. He no longer had to feel through his fingers. This room was governable; it was governed. And yet:
I HOPE TO FRIGHTEN YOU AS YOU HAVE FRIGHTENED GOD
“I have frightened God?” he said. “God has frightened me, with the threat of the sea.”