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.

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