Four dogs, but without any dogs.

Mason

United States

Face down where the ancient soil meets the discarded flesh, the great stench of all that is rotten, and forgotten, the unburied clamber into what you were, feasting on the joy that is stolen forever, alchemy of disgust and hatred, the unceremonious, the smell of all final moments at once, embedded in the great beasts flesh, the carrier of the tormented, the final journey through the impossible, a silence so vast, that deafens with its roaring certainty, to the unnamed places, guarded by the ancient carrion and their minions of vomit.

METANET!

metagamers

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