The hallway is dark. She breathes heavily, gun pressed against her thigh, blue eyes flashing left and right, shining in the light that pours through the window. The rusting tree scrapes against the window, rolling their long, flecking nails against its hard shining glass, etching its mumbles onto the stale ice.
There is no sound around the corner. The shadows bob on the walls, turning to one another, falling away. The dark leaves are blowing on the wind of the fading green wallpaper. Her black rubber presses against the carpet. There is blood flecked red in little droplets near the mildewed corner. There is a round porcelain lamp sighing quietly at the end of the hall, with its shade brought low over its eyes.
Her heart is waiting for the crash of glass, the long moan of the starving unknown.
The air is stale and cold, and falls dark blue on the curtains, and black in the crevices.
The hallway stretches to Montana in silver-rimmed thunderclouds, questing the distance between a forties groaning gramophone and the last traveled highways of the Midwest.
The night is waiting to see her son show his hairless, withered bulb of a rotting skull.
The long dry groan. It is breathing for the first time. A long slow groan that knows blood pulsing is on the other side of the room. The slow turn and a shoulder brushes against the wall. The groan fades creaking with broken tree branches. Slow slumping slippery sloshes of the feet rubbing against the desert carpet. Old prints of dirt-infested reds and dark golden oranges, basking in the quiet night.
She stops breathing.
The foot falls like a ghost going as a kid out in the night, slow and heavy. The breathing is still underneath the wall. She waits, the nots of nerves all burning and twisting into canker-filled explosions along her nestled ribcage and in the pits of her back-arched. The ghost is waiting for her. Her soft shining flesh bleeds sweat in the midnight.
The ghost groans and shuffles his feet.
Her breath is shallow like the wind creeping beneath a door. The dark shadows on the wall suck in their stomachs, and watch the death shuffling at the other end of the hall. Her eyes are shining blue.
The silence plays against the window pane.
There is no sound around the corner. The shadows bob on the walls, turning to one another, falling away. The dark leaves are blowing on the wind of the fading green wallpaper. Her black rubber presses against the carpet. There is blood flecked red in little droplets near the mildewed corner. There is a round porcelain lamp sighing quietly at the end of the hall, with its shade brought low over its eyes.
Her heart is waiting for the crash of glass, the long moan of the starving unknown.
The air is stale and cold, and falls dark blue on the curtains, and black in the crevices.
The hallway stretches to Montana in silver-rimmed thunderclouds, questing the distance between a forties groaning gramophone and the last traveled highways of the Midwest.
The night is waiting to see her son show his hairless, withered bulb of a rotting skull.
The long dry groan. It is breathing for the first time. A long slow groan that knows blood pulsing is on the other side of the room. The slow turn and a shoulder brushes against the wall. The groan fades creaking with broken tree branches. Slow slumping slippery sloshes of the feet rubbing against the desert carpet. Old prints of dirt-infested reds and dark golden oranges, basking in the quiet night.
She stops breathing.
The foot falls like a ghost going as a kid out in the night, slow and heavy. The breathing is still underneath the wall. She waits, the nots of nerves all burning and twisting into canker-filled explosions along her nestled ribcage and in the pits of her back-arched. The ghost is waiting for her. Her soft shining flesh bleeds sweat in the midnight.
The ghost groans and shuffles his feet.
Her breath is shallow like the wind creeping beneath a door. The dark shadows on the wall suck in their stomachs, and watch the death shuffling at the other end of the hall. Her eyes are shining blue.
The silence plays against the window pane.