thedarksiren2 | dream, a few days passed

I stepped outside the large metal door, barely slipping through its rusty edges without harm; time and age only allowed it to open so much.

It was raining a heavy, dank rain. I pulled through, looked around me and wound up staring back at the metal door. I was leaving The Warehouse with The Mattress in the middle, and saw it from this angle for the very first time. I felt so numb about the leaving, tried to find nostalgia or pain or hope, but none of it existed. All that existed was the heavy rain, my shoulders being beaten with passing milliseconds, an unsaid burden.

I began to walk, making my way through an alleyway (of course). I passed trash cans and hissing cats, noisy lids and old cardboard houses. The trash was ancient, left a deep, burning singe on the nose. I did not care, however.

The rain began to change as the air turned colder. I had no coat on, nothing as protection; my body began to shiver, and the droplets turned to ice pellets, peeling away at my face, inch by inch.

I took a deep breath, watched the air come out in fog when I exhaled. I licked my lips and tasted nothingness like an old familiar friend. I looked down and saw my feet surrounded by dark green grass and mud, and when I turned around to look at The Warehouse, I had left the city far behind me and stood at the doorway to the concicle-shaped building from my teenage years. The door was still locked, which I knew instinctively, but I reached out anyway.

This was the first time I noticed I was seriously bleeding, and my face began to sting. I lifted my fingers to touch the peeling skin, and my fingertips had been burned away as well so that I could not feel anything with them.

A strange sort of indifference came over me. I sighed, and walked on down the muddy pathway, through the bog and, eventually, found myself admiring the dark gray clouds hovering in my past.