New. A new building. New rooms and new halls. New rooms filled with new cots and pristine sheets. New cots and sheets for the people that will soon reside here. For the people that will walk the halls. New halls only just painted. The scent of fresh paint floats around and clings to the walls and walks through closed doors. Wonderful oaken doors and floors. Sturdy and strong doors that open up with ease and lead to even sturdier floor boards that seem to glow and to walk on them is to glide.
Old. An old building, once new. Old rooms and old halls, completely deserted. Old rooms devoid of any signs of life. Scattered cots and sheets belonging to those who once resided here. Those people who once roamed these cold and bare halls. Old halls with paint peeling off in curls. The stale air and the scent of grief linger, never to leave this old, old place. Rotting wooden doors and floors. Decrepit doors that open up, with the shrill cries of old age, to even weaker floors with chunks missing and many boards that moan in protest when stepped upon.
Inside the new rooms are clean new curtains. Beautiful new curtains, just bought and freshly pressed. Lavender scented curtains that flow like the waves at sea when the breeze flows through the open windows. The windows, so big, so wide, so much sunlight. The sun wrapping its warm rays of light and comfort and hope around this new building and its long halls and its many rooms and its imperial clock tower that seems to touch the sky.
Within the empty rooms are old dusty curtains. Shredded, threadbare curtains, worn out by time. Musty curtains that hang on the window limp and lifeless like a corpse. Windows boarded so tightly shut that not even the screams of time can pass through, let alone the sun. The sun, held hostage behind dark rain clouds ready to shed their tears of sorrow upon the earth. The rains of sorrow and despair fall down upon this once new building, with its long empty halls and its many desolate rooms and its miserable clock tower that once seemed to touch the sky.
Outside, a fountain. A grand fountain. A sparkling fountain overflowing with its crystalline water. Such pure water glistening in the sun like gems and some of it splashing out into the lush green grass. The grass, each piece growing in unison and harmony to create a lawn that encompasses the new building warmly, like a mother's arms around her child. A giant lawn where the people will breathe in the crisp fresh air of life.
Outside, a small and empty fountain. A fountain as dry as the scorching sands of the Sahara, with moss and weeds growing from the cracks in its side. Ugly unsightly weeds that have long since replaced the grass. The weeds, each piece fighting for dominance, growing in discord and disarray to replicate what will only be a shadow of a lawn. A shadow of a lawn that's like a never-ending wasteland and filled with nothing else to breath but the breath of death.
Loud. So very loud. Loud with the sound of conversations merging together into a single sound. Loud with the lively sounds of people. The people, so many different people. People of war and people of illness. These people who sleep in the new cots and use the new sheets. These people who walk along the new halls. These lively, lively people who live in the new building. These people who look for guidance and help and hope in the new building. These people that will remain here forever.
Silent. Too silent. The silence of death and loss. People? There are no more people, they're all gone. No people of a bloody war and no people of incurable illness. Those people that left and those people that died, claimed by death himself. Those people that once sought out help and hope among these barren walls, only to be left in despair. Those people whose ghosts will haunt this place forever.
This place where the insane once were. Where the crazy once were. Where the hurt once were. This place which reeks of madness and nightmares. This place where echoes of misery and horror can still be heard. This place where the insane still are. Where the crazy still are. Where the hurt still are. This place where they shall remain forever, untouched by time. This place that's just an empty shell of what it was, destined to be haunted by ghosts of the past for the rest of time. This place that once was the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum, this place that still is.
