It was cold.
Too, cold.
It felt like I was freezing to death.
The white walls, oh, the walls.
They were splashed, with the colour red.
Markings, scratches,
Ran across these tainted walls.
It was a mess.
Everything was a mess.
I'm a mess.
The chairs were flipped and broken,
Tables all over the place.
It looked like a war zone,
A place where lives are collected.
Windows, smashed open.
Utilities, broken and no longer of use.
Puddles of red were on the floor.
There were trails,
And footsteps?
The place reeked of a horrible odor..
It smelled like something was forgotten,
Maybe it curled up, died and now it's rotten?
Whatever it is,
It smells like dead carcasses.
It was dark.
The lights, all of the lights were broken.
Only the moonlight became my light.
The farther I went,
The more quiet and eerie it got.
The deeper I go,
The dimmer the moonlight gets.
Footsteps, echoes in the empty halls.
Footsteps, getting closer.
Footsteps, getting louder.
Footsteps.
Right behind me.
"It's already too late."
[176 words] (Totally did not sneak in a little reference ;9)
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RandomA Book Where I Dump Stories (and possibly poetry) That I Create From Time to Time. The Content Of The Book Varies From Simple Short Stories; To Character's (angsty) Background. If You Somehow Find Yourself Enjoying My Writing, I'm Glad! ᵀʰᵒ ᴵᵗ'ᵈ ᴮᵉ...
