Chapter 4.5: Attaching the Strings

Peering into the thick mist, the stained violet stone walls surround me, their symmetrical brick cut, creates the illusion of methodology, masking the sprinkle of a violet liquid oozing out of the wall's meager pores. My senses, tingle as the mist penetrates my lungs, the suffocating aura stealing my sense of familiarity with these sights. My mind, being urged by an unfamiliar presence, I uncontrollably spin around, my lungs burning, my iris meeting the gaze of the iron bars, which, unlike before, morphs into a domineering black-stained handleless gate.

A sudden twitch in my body creates an unsettling feeling. My leg begins to move on it own, with a straight movement, calling inwards to myself, I try to control my leg, to call it back, but as if strings of a puppet, my body does not listen, My heel touching the ground, my body marches on. The gate creeps open, my eyes registering the sight before me. The stone walls I am familiar with lay in front of me. The same height, the same cut, the same liquid oozing out, but it is wide enough just for my body. Moving forward, the room's purpose became clear, a hallway of sorts. As my legs drag my body, we pass toward an opening. As my legs stiffen, my neck twists, peering through the iron bars, I take in the sight of a young man whose face is blackened by a vile shadow, boasting to a group of similar-age kids, about how he caught a freighting demon. The man, looks up, revealing his face, I stare at Michael's treacherous eyes.

With a jolt, my face forcefully, looks for its next destination, as my legs awkwardly move forward. The mist resettles itself around me as I walk. I walk, and I walk. I walk until my legs are on fire. The clanking of my heels, hitting the stone, reverberates through the claustrophobic hallway, echoing its melody to me. My body suddenly freezes, the momentum carrying my insides forward, and the pain hurts. Everything hurts, but this world does not care. The mist lets up, showing me my next set of bars. As my head forcefully peers through, a bookcase catches my attention as its oak frame creates a warm feeling inside. As my iris scans across, a taxidermied bull sits next to the oak frame, the horns of the bull, point towards the wall of trophies. The deers, the bears, and the crispy blonde hair of a man, whose half-melted head, sits attached to an oak plaque that reads, Jocko the Prize.

Mist recycling itself around the bars, my view obstructed, and my legs resume the march. Suddenly stopping, I brace myself mentally for what the hallway has in store for me next. A rapid stabbing pain causes my head to shift its gaze downward towards my thigh slowly. Leaking the deep red liquid, my mind screams to my body, but as if a puppet, my body holds out my demonized hand, lifting it upward. The liquid from the walls dripped onto the hand, creating an unimaginable pain, as the skin peeled off revealing the pink fleshy muscles and veins. As the veins burst a violet liquid, streams out, my eyes follow the blood as it defies gravity, rushing itself towards the open wound of my thigh.