The Visitor

Chapter 1

A small, tiny, confining room. The wallpaper peeling off in bits and chunks to reveal the sickening yellow wall behind. The door, an old wooden style was weathered but somehow still sturdy enough. A bolt placed in the center of the crippled door. No escape. Dust smothered every surface, so much so that when they ran out of space they floated in mid-air waiting to land. The dust hanging in the atmosphere like time. There is no longer the sense of time but only the time captured in the aging of the room. Eyes scanned the room to land in the corner. A bookcase, hidden in the corner, a stowaway, seemed neglected like him, never read but decaying all the same.

Smell, he could smell the mold and must clouding the air like the dust had done for so long before. The stench of weathered wooden doors and creaking floorboards saddened him

"what a pretty room it must've been" He thought silently.

The cold pinched at him, teasing. He grunted, no effort left in him to fight it back. He felt his cheek get cold. A hand lifted a finger to the freezing cheek. Tears? They ran down his face like a frozen stream paving way through the snow. Detached. He understood what he felt; detached from himself, his body, his mind.

In that moment of emptiness, He remembered, and oh how he cried.The energy thought to be gone, the feelings thought to be lost. All of it crashed down on him.

How he yearned for the presence of her but yet passionately loathed it all the same. The visitor.His visitor. He had not the heart to wish the meeting had not occurred at all. However in his most violent and hateful delights, he dreamed it was gone, but guilt told him "no".

During this time he lived in the memory of that night, encased in it wholly.