#92

even the trees surrounding it always assumed a dim and dank persona. the weathered, storm-cloud colored building rose, brick by ominous brick, visible from town, a constant reminder that there were still people who had seen enough of life, seen it in every inherent atrocities.
sometimes a scream would echo, shrill and harsh; maybe a nightmare, or maybe the dreamer was more awake than any of us.
tonight though, the screams blended in a cacophany of dissonant harmony. from their homes, the self-proclaimed "mentally stable" saw blue, red, orange flames running skyward, sprinting up from the ground to the third floor, fourth floor.
inside, locked in rooms, chained to their beds, tied down in their chairs, white robes, cracked nailbeds, unkempt hair. they let out screams, less of fear and more of knowledge.
of course this is how it will end.
this is how it began.