If there were any words which could supply the answer as to why, they never came. The only thing that came, and seldom at that, was the man on the opposite side of the door. But never did he divulge an answer as to why.
Something had been growing from the inside-out and soon out altogether. A new skin to wear. Over the course of countless hours filled with nothing other than torments and agonies the apartment he wandereded had diminished in size. The walls had begun to draw in closer and closer and still continued to impose, the four familiar sheets of plaster inching ever nearer to some invisible point in the middle. A set place where all would merge into one. Each wall fixed on giant mechanical tracks, ancient and rusted, some monstrous being turning a great crank beneath the surface of this place.
He could not bear the thought of it. Of greater things at work.
Desolation of the Lost (Words:1,100; Read time: 5 min.) The desert called to him. Spoke to him on every level. Its desolation. The ancient nature of it–the… Read more “Desolation of the Lost”