I sense something putrid. It’s in the walls. The damp eating them from the inside, making them bulge. What are they hiding?
The laced girl takes no notice. She ties flowers in her hair and dances to the smell of death.
Where am I?
She giggles. Don’t you know? This is Sanatorium. The resting place for rotting girls.
I don’t belong here.
We all belong here.
I run. The floor shatters beneath my feet. Hands of glass reach out for me.
No inmate’s ever escaped here. Everyone remains – memories in a sickened mind, stuck in decomposition as my thoughts keep repeating themselves. Each rotting girl pounding on the walls with bare fleshed hands, creating another bulge.
The damp eats it.
This is based on a haunting dream I had last night.