Chapter One
A stark, putrid stench fills the room, as he lifts himself up he feels an ache in his shoulder, he sits up and winces in pain as the bones grind against each other, snapping sharply and seamlessly as they relocate themselves. He takes a second to focus his eyes on the sky blue door opposite him, the shallow light drifting through the crevice underneath. As he walks cautiously to the door he hears a faint echo, spinning around almost by reaction, he leaps backwards a pace, gasping for air he looks up. A mirror, hanging on the wall. He sees a reflection of himself, his black shirt torn at the waist, and a blood stain marking the spot where his knees sit on his newly brushed white jeans.
He turns back and stares at the door, hesitantly tugging on the handle. Locked. But how, there is no visible lock? He steps backwards, bedazzled, and sits on the scarlet carpet below him. He moves closer to the door, hoping for a glimpse of what lies beyond. As he moves his tired eyes towards the gap, he winces back, his face scrunching up. The light is blinding, too bright to see past.
He sits back in the middle of the room, examining his surroundings. A small blue blanket, folded 4 times equally, sits in the corner in front of him. A small wooden desk sits to his left, the small bedside lamp next to it flickers manically. A small calligraphy pen sits on top of a piece of paper, scribbling etched into it. He walks up to the desk and sits on the small stall in front of him, gliding the lamp across the desk. The flickering makes the writing harder to decipher. What language is this? Who wrote it?
He rests his weary arms on the desk, his golden Rolex glistening under the light, the glass on top cracked and the hands still. Twelve o'clock dead. He lifts his left hand to the light to inspect the damage. Two small, bloody craters, dug into the palm of his hand, and inch apart. How did they get there? He moves to the door again, he knows it's locked but he'll try anyway. As he places his sweaty hand on the handle, he hears a faint whisper from the other side. He moves his ear to the door. Too quite to make out a word...
This blog entry was posted on Thursday, September 29, 2005 @ 11:17 am and is filed under: Miscelleneous.