Hollow

Delusion

No

My brain refuses to comprehend the images my eyes send to it. Where did the girl go? My mind is not the kind to play tricks.

I desperately rake my vision across the walls, hoping to find an anomaly that will explain how she vanished. I am met with crushing disappointment.

Can I be sure there was even a girl here at all? The answer is yes, isn't it? My mind is clear and stable, despite the heavy fog of pollution that coats the air. I place a hand on the wall in front of me, my long spidery fingers now assured of its solidity.

A frown creeps onto my lips. What led me to this dead end?

An explosive rumbling that shakes the cement beneath my feet suddenly starts up, scrambling all of the thoughts out of my head.

What?

The surrounding buildings begin to shake with a rising intensity, warning of their imminent collapse. I let out a stream of curses, realizing that I've been trapped.

* * *

The swirling dust of the demolished concrete makes the air harder to breathe than before, by some miracle. If there really had been a girl back then, she was most certainly dead by now: rotting under an ocean of brick and stone.

I sigh, knowing there is no use in mourning over it. There is nothing to be found in this city of crushed dreams. I need to move on.

My legs show their agreement as they skillfully descend from the mountain of rubble. This was just one city in a universe of civilization. One dead cell does not render the whole body disabled.

My ears do nothing to block out the illusion of whispers I hear as I find my way out of the ghost town. The air is still, yet these whispers still manage to creep their way around corners, slither their way out of the dirt to torment me.

Of course the whispers are that of the deceased, blaming me for their violent passing. Doing my best to ignore the psychological torture my mind has cooked up for me to battle, I weave my way through the city as fast as possible.

Not wanting to have to exert my limited energy reserves past human ability again, I try to avoid the shakiest-looking buildings.

The closer I get to the edge of the city, the stronger the sensation of it pulling me back in gets. Almost as if the haunted ghosts are latching onto my arms, dragging me backwards.

But I can't go back. There is no going back.

What can I do but push on. The harder I push, the further away I get from my past.

After an hour, I am able to escape the clutches of this city that clings to me like quick sand. I continue on.

Don't look back