2am. Thick, black muck drips from the corners where the wall meets the ceiling. Stains spread from where they touch the carpet, slowly creeping towards my feet.
My chair sinks into the ground inch by inch. If I wasn’t concentrating I wouldn’t even notice.
Slowly the ground consumes my feet, then my legs. I don’t bother resisting.
I watch a spider make its way across the desk. It’s having difficulty, its legs sticking more to the melting wood with each step.
As the ground closes up over my head, my eyes are still fixed on the clock. Where are you?
theothermolly | 04-Apr-08 at 8:53 am | Permalink
You’re fantastically talented. I love your videos, but, a writer as well? It’s great.
I love your descriptions- very vivid. The morbidness of “the muck” is so easily forgotten by the ending- it almost seems unimportant what’s happening to you when thinking about who you might be speaking of.
- theothermolly