Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons. Keepers (№ 241116)

I sat on the bed. Looked at the card with the Rorschach ink blots. I tried to pretend that spot looks like a spreading shade tree, but it didn't work. It was like a dead cat I once found. Fat shiny worms blindly fumbling in it, crept on each other, desperately hiding from the light.
But even this memory is just an attempt to avoid this horror. And the horror that it really is just an image meaningless and empty black. We are alone. Nothing more.