Those things came up from the sewer; at first, everyone thought all the rain backed it up. Then they started moving. I remember thinking they looked like ink blots. It was as if someone splattered a paper with ink, and the individual drops leaped off the sheet into 3D.

 

The personified Rorschach tests move like gas, only faster. Everything and everyone they touch becomes one of them.

 

I was leaving the movies the first time I saw them. Ironically, I was watching a throwback showing of “The Blob.” When they started moving, it was at rocket speed. They slammed right into my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Whitman. It took only seconds for her body to become engulfed by the organisms. They slid around every inch of her until she was nothing more than one of them.

 

Mrs. Whitman said nothing. She looked at her hand and then held it out to her husband. Mr. Whitman looked at her for a moment before reluctantly taking her hand. I watched in shock as he became a solid black sketch of a human, and then they walked away still holding hands.

 

Still unsure of what I had witnessed, I noticed more blots coming from the ground. I beelined for my car and made it home in five minutes instead of the ten it normally would’ve taken. I made it into my house, slammed the door, and fainted in the entryway.

 

When I awoke, the sun shone through the window, blinding me instantly. Confusion set in as I knew with all my heart, that it all had to be a dream. No unidentifiable ink things were consuming the world, I’ll just go outside and see for myself.

 

I pushed the door open to discover my heart was a fucking liar, as the mailman stared directly into my soul with those big, black, ink eyes. Just like the Whitmans, his body was invaded by darkness. He held out my mail, and even the envelopes were alive, crawling with blotchy beings. Slamming the door yet again, I make for the coffee pot. Brainstorming is in order, but caffeine is necessary if I’m going to figure any of this out.

 

After six cups of coffee, I had ruled out killing the things. That left me with containing or outrunning them, but where was left to run? It’s impossible to say where, or even when this started. Perhaps there are others out there like me, trying to wait them out. Maybe I could end up in some rag-tag group of unlikely survivors, like some bad TV post-apocalypse show. No thanks, I’d rather take my chances alone.

 

I make my way to the bedroom. Even after sleeping what must have been twelve hours, I’m not feeling rested. I was already entering dreamland before my head hit the pillow. In my head, the world almost seems normal at first, other than the absence of a sun. I’m sitting on a park bench watching passersby. Everyone looks like sludge. It’s more of a sludge, not ink, I see it now. No one is talking, but a collective of thoughts flood my head. It sounds like it would be overwhelming, but it’s more reassuring. A figure appears next to me on the bench. She looks like everyone else, but I can tell it’s my mother. She speaks to me in my head and tells me everything is going to be fine. In an instant, she’s gone. Then everything else fades until it’s complete darkness.

 

 

My head feels groggy when I wake up. A part of me knows it wasn’t a dream. I need more coffee. I need a real conversation with my mom. I need this to end more than anything else, but that seems out of the question.

 

After my seventh cup of the day, I had the brilliant idea to check the TV. The news might be able to shed some light on this, or at least confirm I’m not crazy. The screen lights up, and what appears is not comforting, but oddly enough it’s not discomforting either. Two dark human shapes, holding microphones, silently staring directly into the camera. It’s as if they’ve been waiting for me the whole time. They start to fade from the screen, and as they dissipate into nothingness, my television starts to bleed black and form the shapes of the news anchors. One of them approaches me, gently, and puts a hand on my shoulder. There is no pain. There is nothing. The world turns black now, and that’s okay. I am one with the hive, and we are infinite.