In the Ghost Town

In the ghost town your steps echo against walls whose paint is chipped and faded, whose molested fibers exude strange, musty smells. The wind is a worrisome companion, occupying the dark void behind shattered window panes.

In the ghost town, you hesitate to breathe, lest you disturb the nameless silence and attract Fear.

Fear's ghost mask is difficult to penetrate.

The air is dank and toxic; your lungs constrict of their own accord.

The ghost town is filled with broken memories that jaggedly litter the decaying streets, cutting through your leather boots into your soft, pink feet as you stumble and creep through its grayish desolation.

Hanging debris crashes near your ear and your senses scream with panic. Your heart suffers from the adrenal rush, aches beneath your exterior.

The heart of the ghost town is plagued with unsaturated animals who prowl with dripping fangs and lean bodies. Their savage hunger charges the overhanging air, electrifying your saturated core.



I am a lonely soul in a collapsing town.
The animals' fight is all around me.
But I am above them.
And I beat them when they attack.

Run back to civilization, human.
Run before your conscience hates you.
Run before you turn,
Animal.