Writing Prompt

It is rather difficult for me to remember when I first entered this room. Has it been hours, months or weeks? Memory itself seems to be a luxury I no longer possess, so my cognitive ability and logical thinking are crucial in keeping my sanity.

Let me exemplify: It is a logical process to deduce that if one finds itself within a room, there must be some sort of opening that allowed its presence....

Im lost, I can’t find my way home. I see a car. I thought it was my mom. “Mom! Mom! It’s me please stop I need help!” I call out. They stop. It looked liked my mom, I couldn’t tell I haven’t drank or ate in 10 hours. I broke down in tears, not know what to do. Unknowingly I get pulled into the back of the car. And suddenly I black out.

I woke up not knowing where I was, or who these people were. ...

silence

is the first noticeable

thing,

aside from the

dark.

it’s almost

like being asleep,

except the smell

of must

that coats the

air.

fabric binds

my mouth

and eyes,

but i don’t try

to escape it.

why escape

paradise?

when there is

nothing left,

but air and

the raw feeling

of rope against

bleeding wrists.

of blood coating

each hand of mine,

and tears dried upon

my cheeks,

for how can you

cry w...

Her ears still rang. Lying on hard, damp ground, she raised her self onto an elbow. She felt the back of her head, which was tender to the touch. Moving her hand back into view, she could see blood. Taking stock of her surroundings, her outlook was bleak. Four dark grey walls. Floor. Ceiling. A single, dull, hanging light bulb lit the concrete room. No windows. No doors. No way in… no way out.

S...

I thought it wasn’t dangerous.

Our interactions were all online.

I didn’t imagine him as a real person.

This is real though.

I never knew I had ringing in my ears till now. I suppose I made an effort to never be in silence. I can hear my tongue clicking in my dry mouth.

Every time I think I hear someone coming down to the basement, my stomach tightens and I stop breathing.

I thought the stori...

The grey walls are unadorned. The windows look out on nothing but more of the same, grey concrete, occasionally marked by suspiciously dark stains. The floor is grey too, with a drain in the middle. On the left side of the room is a lamp. It has a post-it by the switch: “Are you sure you want to turn this off?” I’m not sure. This is the only source of light—the only thing pushing back against the ...

I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know how to leave. There are no windows or doors. The last thing I remeber is arriving home from the office after a long day and lying in my bed. I woke up in this room to a strange person leaning over and looking me in the eyes. He was about three quarters of my height in an all-black outfit, he had a hood around his silver mask with...

No windows no views

No doors into rooms

Alone in this large room

Writings on the wall of ways it could end

Threads on the floor of dreaded scenes

Too much words thoughts screaming too loud going under but not drowning

Creativity is fleeing like smoke leaving

Something’s burning there’s a fire

It’s kissing the walls and eating the floors

It’s getting too hazy in hear need help

It’s a...

I want to sit by someone

On a bus ride

That truly loves me

And I’d put my head on their shoulder

And they’d put theirs on mine.

We’d be home

Like that

One person

Can be home....

My prison is not of bars on windows, or concrete walls. It’s only windows are my words and the only walls that keep me locked are the walls of my own mind. My prison may not be physical, but its as if I’m chained to a wall, unable to move and left only to hang in the darkness. The darkness is impossible to see through, but I know there’s a presence. A presence of a monster, lurking in the depths. ...