My mind must have been drifting again. The water sloped and slashed heavily against the pier without rhythm. Land seemed a full mile away, with lights cascading down the sides like an ambient runway. And there was this old wooden arch framing my shadow, which was glowing like a ghost.
The density of the air weighed me down to the sole of my feet, which felt like dumbbells against the creaking slabs beneath me. All this seems strange. It was like a memory, a weird kind of mist.

She crept up behind me like she used to, I could smell her perfume. At least I think it’s her. In the dusk she seemed to have no face. No face at all.
As she approached I could sense her fear. The sky was barely moonlit behind the distant hills, looming over her shoulders.
Yet the water below remained black, and as she hovered closer so did her pain. And her face, that face I knew so well, dark with nothingness – framed by her golden hair, which was now a lifeless grey.

As I reached out all I could feel was cold. My hand glided through her as my whole body went numb. Only then she disappeared like she was never with me. It must have been her but was she even there?

Now it’s foggy too even see. Not that I’ve really been looking. Along the pier I could see several figures by the embankment, shapes of people I recognise. I felt like they were judging me. Signalling something horrifying I couldn’t quite fathom. And staring, faceless, motionless…
Suddenly I felt something brush against my shoulder. It startled me as if a gust of ice-cold wind past right through my throat. Breathing became too intense, and I sensed that there was something I had to accept.

The end. The end of everything.

The Tale of the Fiendishly Discordant

The filthy, lingering wind past through the building like a stuttering engine. Bolts and screws and estranged pieces of woodwork shaped themselves in an automated choreograph, fleeting in a rhythm that had all furniture and bending mirrors sway with the grace of horrific ballet.
Light shone in awkward corners, for the shadows had no fixed place. Bulbs, half melting, gave little luminosity and the dimness spread from those sorrowed filaments.

Eerie movements made soft work of creatures with eyes of dead children. The discordance surrounded the rooms from creaking floorboards to the shuddering damp ceiling. It smelt like the great depression, bellies of hunger rotting with fear. Fear of entrapment in this ghostly place. Fear for opening flesh, bloody organs and the wounds of aching souls.

The shuddering disturbance was harsh. Sounds became ludicrous, unintelligible, inconceivable – Screeching like violated echoes from a disused factory of abuse. A heavy thumping dragged my vision through a doorway to a musky work-desk where the screws and bent nails ushered pain as they manoeuvred.

Something vile felt all too familiar, I remembered my father kept in the lower drawer of his cabinet an old map of our lost society, wherever it may lay to nightmare. God-light forgive us eternal, for this place we remain wounded, tearing and carving one another like fiends of bloodlust. All cherished memories forever seeping into this ghost town.

The known world, we once had, is now gone.