Pain. Torture. Death. These simple meaningless words are tied with strings to the puppeteer, that controls my life, with every tug of the threads. What is the meaning of life? Everyone has thought about this question at least once in their life. Is it to have fun? To follow your duty? Well, for me, life is to live in hell, a place of eternal suffering and pain; no doorway to escape, or a means of avoiding the agony. I was diagnosed with Marie Antoinette syndrome, from my... 'trauma'. I can never forget that day, when I entered this living underworld of fire. The day where I lost something irreplaceable. The day I entered, the room of The Devil.
It was the 13th of April, 2022. Rain pounded against the roof, whilst thunder roared across the dark, endless void. I was standing in a room. A room that belonged to a child, no older than 5.
Illuminating the room with the glow of my candle, the room had peeling crimson wallpaper, with splodges of mold growing in the miniature cracks of the walls, especially near the window. Taking a step forward, the floorboards creaked underneath my weight, as I stared at the minefield of toys littered across the floor. Many of the toys were dolls, each having parts of their faces' disintegrated by neglect and age. A rocking horse sat in the corner. The eyes of the black stallion pierced my soul as I continued advancing forward, towards the bed. The bed had scratches on the wooden frame, while the mattress was deteriorating, oozing a metallic odour. An odour I recognized, as the smell of...
Tick. Tock. RING. Tick. Tock. Tick Tock.
I clenched my hands. My heart skipped a beat. Slowly, I relaxed, my heart rate returning to its steady pulse. It was just the clock. The clock. I quickly turned my head to face the cracked clock, pinned on the wall.
It was 3AM.
YOU ARE READING
The Devil's Room
Short StoryPain. Torture. Death. These simple meaningless words are tied with strings to the puppeteer, that controls my life, with every tug of the threads. What is the meaning of life?
