It is winter, just past early morning. A wet, foggy atmosphere guards the building like it’s wrapped in chains. It stood composed as if it had a duty to do so. Bottles of broken glass cover the moss cracked footpath, the fresh shamrock grass that once grew was now dirt. Along with the graffiti artwork, that stained the exterior just increased the look of distortion. The wind is strong, creating a whistling sound that is causing the one working window to slam. tiny specks of snow sprinkle onto the pavement as if it were little dots of paint on a fresh canvas.
Look inside, look at the home to hundreds of spiders, creating a nest in the rooftops. Look as with every glance, emptiness fills the room, apart from the scattered obsolete paint tins spilled in the corner. Coldness seeps through the gap under the door like a flowing ice bath. Dust particles create commotion as the window slams, dancing around like happy fairies they move. The building that used to hold so much life has turned into an orphanage for mice, who find it quite peaceful indeed. As the warehouse slowly deteriorates, the memories do also. Each broken window represents the past and every beam of light that shines through represents the future.
It is night time, darkness looms over the town as daylight sleeps and the night comes alive. Stray cats come out from the shadows, ready for a crazy night ahead. Street lights of orange and yellow light up the sidewalk, guiding the path of where the civilians walk. The same people who stumble onto the footpath, bottles of alcohol in hand, unable to walk. A sense of unknowingness dawns on the streets, unaware of all that is in this very building.
Listen, it began as a whisper. Above, the sky turned purple and black as if it had all this anger inside and was about to let it out. The pitter-patter sound of the rain turned torrential in seconds. A sense of security loomed from inside the old dormant building as it grew stronger. The beating on the roof was defining as it echoed through the thick walls of brick. A series of minutes passed until it became a pitter-patter once more.
It is Tuesday and you’re here, tied up to the old wooden chair that is keeping you from falling. All you want to do is fall, down into a black abyss to never return. Visions of children, loved ones and friends crash through the mind At 100mph. Tears escape the drowsy tired eyes, cutting rivers down your rose-tinted cheeks. Your balloon-like lungs are inflating and deflating in perfect melody. Eyes closed and still, you can place yourself in the room, with the sounds, the sights, and the feelings. This is a nightmare, your running, down the same stretch of road over and over. The soulless came for the soul, they came for the innocence, the power and for you.
Statement of intent.
For this creative writing piece, I wanted to place the reader in the setting I had created. The sense of being in an abandoned warehouse and making yourselves feel as if you were the person who was helplessly trapped in this world.
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