Member-only story
There’s This Panic Room
It’s also called Hell
“She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, like when you’re swimming and you want to put your feet down on something solid, but the water’s deeper than you think and there’s nothing there.”
― Julia Gregson
There’s this panic room.
You can feel the screams reverberating throughout your body, as if you’re the one screaming. You can hear the fire crackling from a distance, but not too close that you miss the shadows of yourself twirling alongside the flames that are enticing you to be engulfed completely, until you burn with it. Until you become the fire itself. You can see the writing on the wall, describing how insane you are and reminding you of all your dirty deeds — the ones you thought you buried in the depths of your soul. I guess not… You taste the filth that resides in this room the longer you try to hold your breath, in a feeble attempt to ignore the putrid fumes and instead taste your own breath, but your breath is just as rotten tasting. Perhaps the room itself is in a vicious tango with your own dirty scent. Your own dirty essence. You can smell the violated aroma of the room the moment you stepped foot into it, nearly collapsing as the wafting dizzies your now unsettled mind. Your mind that now is also unraveling. Your mind that now is fully encompassed in this panic room, and…
