A Collection of Short Storys

A Room

I dreamt of a room. With thick concrete walls, there were no windows nor doors.

The walls had a red tint to them and the more I tried to see their detail the more I wanted to forget.

They were pulsating in an uneven rhythm.

In the leftmost corner of this concrete prison was a man.

He sat upon a velvet-colored seat of leather.

This man wore a suit, but he had no face. The more I focused on his face the less I could see it.

He had his gaze not upon me but rather facing to the rightmost wall. And as I lay bound and awake in my dream.

His gaze turned towards me, and I woke up to the sound of tearing of flesh in my ears.