My nightmares were once described to me as a “mind cleansing”. The diagnosis wasn’t the most eloquent, my mind was just a hazardous waste bin after all, but from that razor-edge description burst forth the fourteen tales contained here-in.
They explore, in all its twisted glory, a dissection of a brain that cannot stop thinking; the adaptations of whatever horrendous fever-dream my mind plagues me with. My pen is not mightier than a sword, it is just an extension of a scourge veering towards a world-shattering apocalypse.
Enjoy.