Brief reflection on Dead Space's necromorphs.

I don't own them or anything in it or of it.

I stand here alone.

Or I think I am alone. I cannot tell.

When the horror killed me, I thought it was the End.

I thought I would have gone to the Greater Community.

The Church Promised.

But no.

I stand aboard this living Hell. A slave to my own legs.

While a cancer flows through my dead body. Ever growing. Ever changing.

Am I dead? No. I can feel pain.

Am I alive? No. The pain is too much to bear.

I am not master of my own flesh.

This One Mind, it tells us to kill the avenging angel,

clad in his armor.

It tells us to, yet we wish not to.

One of us, yet not one of us.

He tears us apart, sending echos of even more pain through my form.

I blame him not.

I only hope my body sees him, and that he may free me.

I only hope his eyes would turn its horrified gaze upon my dessicated flesh.

I only hope his ears might hear the screams of what I control not.

I only hope he might smell me, and kill me.

I can only hope he might make us whole again.

There ya go!