The walls never change. A sterile, indifferent white; not comforting, yet not hostile either. Completely neutral in the observation of the clinically insane. Of course, he wasn't denying it; that’s what he was, after all.
James smiled. The chair was almost more inviting than this place – a prison of chocking ether, where the brains of those who refused to bend to the societal mold were probed and explored with a vigorous tenacity. But he had chosen this place, for no other reason than to be among what he hoped to be kindred minds like his own. What he had found had been disappointing; most inmates simply passed the time drooling, or trying to eat their own skin.
The only thing that kept him lucid was the thought of escape; the outside world, where he was free to experiment and create. He longed to experience, to feel, to learn.
Fascinating… It was all so fascinating… What was the purpose of it all?
Why did they live with such a tangible fear of the taboo?
Perhaps their screams held the answer.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (4 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
- #905 Posted 3 years ago
- 5 out of 5
I feel rather at home here. I think you meant "choking" rather than "chocking," Also, I found the phrase "kindred minds like his own" to be rather redundant. Otherwise, I quite like this and would stay here to find out more.
- #906 Posted 3 years ago
- 5 out of 5
A disturbing little piece that leaves the reader either wanting more or clawing at the exit door. Well executed.
- #908 Posted 3 years ago
The protagonist needs a journal and a pen.
- #929 Posted 3 years ago
- Published 3 years ago.
- Story viewed 21 times and rated 2 times.
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