Never Alone In The Dark

Story for inspiredParadise

They say,

Sometimes, the best things are found in the dark

shrouded in shadow,

hidden from the naked eye,

peeking just around the corner.

But,

also in the dark;

there is a lonely child,

desolate and seeking solitude

something that shall never come.

Only one can give that child solitude.

So,

Will You?

The room around me seemed to have a heart beat all its own; a different pace and feel from mine. With erratic pulses, and tender undertones that flow through you, filling you, enthralling you, capturing you. All in one fell swoop, as it's wonky beat pulses through your core, drumming in a constant, almost matching mine, so close, and yet so far. A heart beat all it's own.

The room is dark, with naught, but one lone light, glowing, lighting nothing more than the round circle beneath it. A lone light, with no one around. But me.

Myself.

And I.

There was silence in the room, eerie, unpleasant, frightening silence. A reality too cold, a winter frontier not meant to be tread upon, and yet I tread. I rake my fingers against the cold, rough, touch of the bricks, each ridge stripping away a tiny bit of nail, until there is no more nail, but skin scraping against bricks, blood trailing down walls, because reality is a harsh thing.

Because Reality is hard, laborious, unforgiving, demented, and unrelenting. Because Reality is frightening. Reality doesn't judge people, but gives them all the same treat, never caring who you are.

My throat grows hoarse, and dry, thirsting for water. Is only then that I realize I was talking aloud.

A lifeless moan emits from the wall closest to me, a low, quiet sound, as though they are trying to answer me. A low moan emits from their throat, indistinguishable. His voice grows louder, the words understandable.

"Gas chamber" The words echoed in my mind, bouncing around, knocking on the walls. Soon his voice gets louder, panicked, and is now in a frenzy.

Word has finally gone around as room after room is soon filled with sound as each person has their own panic attack. Some start out as soft, low murmurs, like that of mine, but soon they grow restless, dementing, panicked. As though the truth has finally settled in.

All around me voices scream out in mercy, mercy to be set free. To be let out, and for dea-