A Place I Do Not Like.

Describe a place you do not like.


There is a place inside my head where nightmares are made and blood splatters the walls. It is a hauntingly surreal place, so real, yet so imaginary. Sometimes I feel as if none of it can be true, yet the pain lances through my nerves and I do not wake. This can't be a dream. Shadows move like serpents, climbing and smirking at me from all sides. Chains hang from the ceiling, reaching down like vines, moving to bind me still. I never stand still in this place. Things only move when I take my eyes off them, still as statues so long as I just do not blink. I cannot blink. But, the air stings my eyes, I must. My eyelids close only for a fraction of a second, but everything changes, shadows creating a path. My time has come.

The air is filled with the sound of screams, but somehow my own frightened heart beats the loudest of all. My breathing matches my heart; somehow my terrified pants are louder than the agony of a thousand souls. These are my transgressions. A cacophony of noise wraps itself around me, holding me close in its arms. I cannot fight free. I try to beat my way out, moving my arms to try and break free, but it only holds me tighter it is a rough whisper made of hollow screams. Suddenly, it lets me free, as if on command. I stumble on, my final march.

The floor is damp, the air pressing close to my skin, heavy and thick in my lungs. I feel naked here, bare to the pain the shadows create as they scrape past, not caring for my paper thin human skin. Sometimes I dare to touch the walls, but quickly draw away as needles and glass dig into the pads of my fingers. It is a rough place, there are no soft edges, and even the shadows are sharp.
Death resides here, the scent of dank decay rising in tendrils from the floor. Each anxious step produces a wet squelch under my bare feet, the bouquet of a thousand dead ideas, their bones forming the floor. Dreams come here to die. Each death is bittersweet, the loss of an idyllic future replaced with another. I tread on my floor of broken dreams, making my way to the ultimate sacrifice.

What awaits me at the end of this room is Death. He is the skeletal angel who stands just behind me always visible in the corners of my eyes, just out of sight, where I never think to look. Death reaches out, caressing my cheek with chilled fingers. He is an exception to so many rules. His perished wings still carry the weight of multitudes of sins, even though a shower of greying feathers are deposited with each movements. My own guardian angel. My own sins.

Suddenly, I awake. Sweat pours off my body and I quiver in my bed. Each night I visit my palace of nightmares, it haunts my every step. I live in fear of that place.