Worthlessness, petty. Paper dolls and French mannequins. Visually dull, duality. Clashing.1
Or was she just crying?2
"Get up. You must get up."3
The voice echoed deeper, throwing my soul round and round on the carousel.4
"Why?" I whispered back.5
"Why is a question you ask when you have the time. You must get up or you will die."6
Spinning around and round on the carousel. Head like a hole.7
And so I got up.8
Rust, everywhere. Metal and straight jackets, lined deeply on the walls. Dust and ruin, ruin and dust.9
Standing on the cliff, looking down to desolation.10
A golden ring glowed around his pupils.11
"Yes, I'm looking down at you," they seemed to say, but his mouth spoke other words.12
...These words that would strike me with fear, but not yet.13
"You're in hell."14
I am?
Author notes
Defining my style. Nothing more. This is not meant to be finished, but when I feel like writing, I will write this. That is all. Expect a shallow plot with fancy storytelling and nothing else. **/5.
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