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It was a black cotton cloth. Light shining on it from one side leaked through, magnifying its infinite pores. It was strangely nauseating.
On every side there were panes of glass. Mirrors. But they were not just reflections of the person standing in between them. No, they were more than that. They were reflections of him, yes, but of aspects of him, of parts and angles that he was not at all pleased to see before him. Some mirrors were crowded with hideous black shapes and shadows, dripping hate from numerous fangs and claws. Others were images of rooms, empty soulless rooms, painted different shades of gray and decorated with poison ivy.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he whirled around. He moved closer to this mirror. He could see a white room, bare, unfurnished. There was a figure standing there, appearing so close as if it were just standing right behind a sheet of glass. The figure had no face; it was white, blank, featureless. He noticed that its breath misted the glass. How could it breathe if it had no visible nose or mouth?
A gap on its face opened suddenly, revealing a black interior that seemed to stretch on forever. He felt himself falling into it, feet first, and streaming down a dark chute, wind buffeting against him.
On the floor was an empty packet of popcorn.
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It was a black cotton cloth. Light shining on it from one side leaked through, magnifying its infinite pores. It was strangely nauseating.
On every side there were panes of glass. Mirrors. But they were not just reflections of the person standing in between them. No, they were more than that. They were reflections of him, yes, but of aspects of him, of parts and angles that he was not at all pleased to see before him. Some mirrors were crowded with hideous black shapes and shadows, dripping hate from numerous fangs and claws. Others were images of rooms, empty soulless rooms, painted different shades of gray and decorated with poison ivy.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he whirled around. He moved closer to this mirror. He could see a white room, bare, unfurnished. There was a figure standing there, appearing so close as if it were just standing right behind a sheet of glass. The figure had no face; it was white, blank, featureless. He noticed that its breath misted the glass. How could it breathe if it had no visible nose or mouth?
A gap on its face opened suddenly, revealing a black interior that seemed to stretch on forever. He felt himself falling into it, feet first, and streaming down a dark chute, wind buffeting against him.
On the floor was an empty packet of popcorn.
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Depressing imagery. Very depressing.
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