Status: in progress.
Obscurity
Report 11.
These halls are eternal and so very dark.
Dark, dark, dark.
With each slow step, the faint antiseptic smell wafts through and drowns me.
Drowns me, drowns me, drowns me.
I must tread softly, softly.
“Thirty-seven B. Thirty-seven B. Why do we need this, queen B?”
Through this darkness, a wretched scratch barely marks ’37 B’ legible.
Thirty-seven B. Thirty-seven B. Thirty-seven B.
“Why thirty-seven B? Why? Why? Why?”
Why not?
I hear them cry at me in defiance. I can hear them. They command me to go.
Go, go, go, young dough.
The door is slightly open. Light escapes the little cracks. I peek through the slight window of opportunity, but the light tells me I’m intruding.
Go, go, go, young dough.
Intruding this blinding bright, light, lovely.
Light. Bright. Lovely. Sun.
“So very bright, bright. Bright light.”
“Who is this? Don’t you knock?”
A man experienced of many years sits ahead. A paintbrush in his left hand, and a palette in the other. The look of dismay appears on his weary features. His wrinkles tell of many stories. He is like a rare timely artefact. I must watch him, lest he disappears like those of ancient myths and oldwives tales.
“You.”
“Sit.”
This man, is no doubt, the alpha male, male, male.
No. No. He can’t be!
I ignore their dismay. I ignore their dismay, their whispers. He is a man with a voice of authority, graced with a domineering presence.
And so I sit.
Like a dog.
Ever so obediently.
“Listen here boy,”
I listen.
I sit.
Like a dog.
Ever so obedient.
“You’re new? Let me give you the ropes.”
Ropes? What will you do?
Tie you up! Tie you up, up, up!
The voices shriek in my ear. Shrill howls of indignation. Nation, nation.
He ignores them. The alpha male ignores their cries of attention. How?
“There are good days.”
The ancient speaks.
“And there will be bad days.”
I stare. Stare, stare, stare. He must not disappear. Not now. I’m listening.
“Lest you disappear, male, male, male.”
Ignoring me, this man continues his painting. How?
Paint, paint. Faint, faint.
Run!
This time, I ignore their commands. I can do that, right? Flight?
“This is one of my better days. I’m good. But I’ve been better.”
Run. Run, run, run! Run like you have never before!
I stop myself from listening to them. They try and move my legs. They tell me to run, but I sit. Like a dog. Ever so obedient.
The ancient glances at my direction. Is he looking at me?
Or me? Or me? Or me?
“You too, will have good days. And you will have bad days.”
“My days are my days, days, days. Alpha. Like curtains and chalk.”
He stops painting. He looks at me.
Light. Bright. Blinding. Sun.
“The day you are you will be a better day.”
I stare. His features are so very distinguishable.
Like an alpha, alpha, alpha.
RUN!
Their cries are so shattering, so I must run.
Run, run, run back into the darkness of these halls.
The smothering stench of antiseptic drowns me, me, me.
Why, why, why is it so dark?
Dark, dark, dark.
With each slow step, the faint antiseptic smell wafts through and drowns me.
Drowns me, drowns me, drowns me.
I must tread softly, softly.
“Thirty-seven B. Thirty-seven B. Why do we need this, queen B?”
Through this darkness, a wretched scratch barely marks ’37 B’ legible.
Thirty-seven B. Thirty-seven B. Thirty-seven B.
“Why thirty-seven B? Why? Why? Why?”
Why not?
I hear them cry at me in defiance. I can hear them. They command me to go.
Go, go, go, young dough.
The door is slightly open. Light escapes the little cracks. I peek through the slight window of opportunity, but the light tells me I’m intruding.
Go, go, go, young dough.
Intruding this blinding bright, light, lovely.
Light. Bright. Lovely. Sun.
“So very bright, bright. Bright light.”
“Who is this? Don’t you knock?”
A man experienced of many years sits ahead. A paintbrush in his left hand, and a palette in the other. The look of dismay appears on his weary features. His wrinkles tell of many stories. He is like a rare timely artefact. I must watch him, lest he disappears like those of ancient myths and oldwives tales.
“You.”
“Sit.”
This man, is no doubt, the alpha male, male, male.
No. No. He can’t be!
I ignore their dismay. I ignore their dismay, their whispers. He is a man with a voice of authority, graced with a domineering presence.
And so I sit.
Like a dog.
Ever so obediently.
“Listen here boy,”
I listen.
I sit.
Like a dog.
Ever so obedient.
“You’re new? Let me give you the ropes.”
Ropes? What will you do?
Tie you up! Tie you up, up, up!
The voices shriek in my ear. Shrill howls of indignation. Nation, nation.
He ignores them. The alpha male ignores their cries of attention. How?
“There are good days.”
The ancient speaks.
“And there will be bad days.”
I stare. Stare, stare, stare. He must not disappear. Not now. I’m listening.
“Lest you disappear, male, male, male.”
Ignoring me, this man continues his painting. How?
Paint, paint. Faint, faint.
Run!
This time, I ignore their commands. I can do that, right? Flight?
“This is one of my better days. I’m good. But I’ve been better.”
Run. Run, run, run! Run like you have never before!
I stop myself from listening to them. They try and move my legs. They tell me to run, but I sit. Like a dog. Ever so obedient.
The ancient glances at my direction. Is he looking at me?
Or me? Or me? Or me?
“You too, will have good days. And you will have bad days.”
“My days are my days, days, days. Alpha. Like curtains and chalk.”
He stops painting. He looks at me.
Light. Bright. Blinding. Sun.
“The day you are you will be a better day.”
I stare. His features are so very distinguishable.
Like an alpha, alpha, alpha.
RUN!
Their cries are so shattering, so I must run.
Run, run, run back into the darkness of these halls.
The smothering stench of antiseptic drowns me, me, me.
Why, why, why is it so dark?
♠ ♠ ♠
I apologise for not updating for years. Literally.Anyway, I hope you can slowly understand this story, even if it's a little.
Loyal readers, thanks for your patience.
Feel free to comment, crit or even ask questions.
Thank you for reading. :)