Dead Tracks 01

version x13


Hell is very small; far smaller than I had ever imaged, knowing always that I was bound for here. I am silently entrapped.


Hell is a small dark room – too small to stand, too narrow to stretch, too short to lie down. I constantly feel like I am falling or about to fall. The room is hideously cold, yet has surfaces too hot to let my skin touch, so I must always move. Soundless but for the close breathing of creatures who watch me.


In the fathomless black I can only vaguely discern movement beyond. One side is made of Little Easebars through which inhuman, unearthly eyes observe me and wait. If I do not move, do they notice me? If I do not cry, do they hear me? Neither matter. A new day comes and once again, the walls have changed their shape and the room its alignment. Best from around, I know a silent, brooding fear from all sides.


The sound of the cold blood being silently pumped through cold veins. All wordless and quiet and conflicted within itself. There is pressure – always pressure – on my skin from all angles. It makes breathing a fight. It makes it impossible to sleep. It makes it impossible to forget they are there. Always watching. Waiting. Wondering. Observing. Try as I might to ignore them I am always drawn back to them and their silent vigil. Patiently waiting for me to slip.