Death Is Not An Escape

I hear it again, the wolf's howl and the exit gates bolt shut and the killer set free inside.
Grass buried in the side of my face, my head burns as I slowly lift it from the cold, damp floor, waking up from what felt like a painful eternity, I'm laying on the grass. I'm here again. It's happening, again.

I lift my head as I look around and feel the cold wind blow through my dirty, messy hair. Unfinished generators glittering in the moonlight, and hooks shining like rusty metal.

This is a horrible loop of death and torture, madness and games.

I have already been killed by them once, but here, not even death is an escape.