The empty halls echo. Dust drifts down, caught in a ray of light, piercing down from a broken skylight. Vacant rooms are home to small skittering creatures, nestled in mildewed linens. Their black beady eyes peer out of the darkness as I pass.
Misspelled graffiti adorns the wall. A splash of red on
faded beige.
Once, these halls were alive. A blur of movement, a swirl of
emotion. The beginning of one life and the end of another. The joy. The pain.
The pungent smell of disinfectant. The beep of machines, calling out signs of
life.
Long gone voices resonate from the walls. How are you
feeling today? Where is room 221? You're going to feel a pinch. Somebody help
me, I want to go home. Laughing. Crying. Screaming.
All the halls are empty now. No joy, no pain, no sound. My
footsteps echo as I walk, looking for signs of life.
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