sᴇʙ ʟᴀᴛɪғ | ʙʀᴜᴄᴇ ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ. (symbolizes) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2014-01-19 18:38:00 |
|
|||
It all starts with a song.
In the distance, it comes like darkness, slowly and then completely. Something from a carnival, it leaves one with goosebumps spread out against skin, a texture uncomfortable to the touch. The rise and fall of breath overpowers, but it doesn't stop the music. Nothing can stop the music. It's a part of him now; it's a part of everyone.
The doors open — old, familiar, covered with memories both horrible and dribbling with blood. Throat is dry, heart is pounding. The music plays on and on feet walk. There are cobwebs instead of tasteful decorum. The foyer is empty, apart from one's figure. One foot in front of the other: the screams sound off, followed by laughter — a macabre call to attention. Fall in line, soldier. Don't you hear them? The music is heard.
Something small, like a toy, rides into view. Appearing from the shadows, a small clown in bright colors riding around on three wheels. His laugh is the same. Over and over. It resonates. Rust against gears groans and he is the proverbial white rabbit (— or is it the music?). Down, down down.
They stand like figures on display. One after the other, their faces aren't seen. Two sides to every coin. How about a little fire? Roses are red. Riddle me this. Familiar. Parts of a single man — the dark parts, the parts kept hidden deep inside. It smells of blood. It reeks of death.
Onwards.
Laughter. Music. The screams, unforgettable.
They grow louder. Another door. It reads exit. Open. Close. Darkness. Thump. Eyes glance towards the sight. Thump. The sound. Thump. Edging closer, his face is recognizable. The mirror is cracking open and brain matter is falling onto the floor. Brick by brick, thump by thump. How does it feel to lose your mind?
Backwards. Run away! Run away. Running. Scared little boy. The bats are coming. Listen to the music.
In the black, there are bodies around you. Circling, holding signs, unreadable signs. One word comes into sight. Redemption. They laugh. They taunt. They tease. They sneer. Their bodies fall and bleed, grit beneath boot. The exit has become the entrance. The entrance has become the exit. There is no way out. The music grows is deafening.
Bryce Tyler stands alone.
Arkham Asylum laughs.
Welcome home, Bruce.