Footsteps

Let's go to a dark place. Let's go to a place that I don't want to visit, yet I just can't seem to forget. This is a place of hurt and pain, and such radical confusion that I'm not even certain that the place is real.

Why don't you be the judge of that? The place looks a little something like this:

The room in the basement is small with not a window in sight. In fact, judging by rust stains streaking the white porcelain bathtub it's possible that no one has ever even turned on the light; that is, if the light even works. The slimy string dangling from the ceiling leads me to believe that is hasn't, but I have larger concerns than this.

I've been sitting against the wall for at least five hours now. I keep hearing footsteps walking above me, but I'm certain he has forgotten I'm down here. It's better that way. Or at least I hope it is.

I'd rather sit in the ooze that covers the floor and drips down the wall. Curiosity begins to drive me crazy, just thinking about the ooze.

Feeling it. 
Smelling it.

The stench of the ooze is so strong I can practically taste it, yet I can't put my finger on what the mysterious substance is. I can only wait and pretend that I can remember what sunlight looks like, or what it feels like to be warm again. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness - for the most part the room is pitch black. But that light - that light under the door has found a way to shine in. It may be dim, but it's become a gentle companion reminding me that there is more outside of this room.

But those footsteps keep getting louder and the slime in the room seems to be expanding, covering my legs and my hands. No matter what I do.. I just. can't. shake. it. off.

I've begun to hear voices. Maybe it's the product of the ooze, or maybe I'm having an synapse malfunction in my head. Nothing but chaotic screams dance around in my head and I keep telling them to shut up to just.. SHUT THE FUCK UP.

But the footsteps...

Well - they just keep getting louder.