She ran, beads of sweat attached to her hazel brows as she devoured the steps passing the rusting sign that read 'West Wing ahead , roof on floor 23' . The stairs were going by three at a time as her breath was pacing faster than her heart . There she was, her face paled in comparison to the velvet red sky , the stars were concealed by the sinking sun. But just as she embraced her freedom It was then that the stairs were apprehended by other figures , it was gone ; all gone ... just ... like ... that. They were the type of things that were indiscribe-able in my literature power to ever tell you their appearances. But they were here now there was no where else to run,hide or escape from this hell-ish situation . Straight ahead the roof. Leading to 23 floors of painful death the other way some thing worse . She stepped forward to the barrier of the roof looking down in dismay , "I .... I have too".
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Blank State
FantasyHe was was dead .... is he still dead? she was alive, but she jumped off a roof .... didn't she? were they ever even real. A series of events happen to them will they ever figure out this mystery.
