Already Too Late
He was breathing hard, too hard, he shouldn't be breathing. He knew he shouldn't be breathing, but he had to breathe, how did you stop breathing?
The lights of the corridor flickered, revealing nothing. Empty walls, empty ceiling line with empty vents, filtering out empty air. All empty, all lies.
He was running, but to where? He had nowhere to run to.
The lights of the corridor flickered, revealing everything. Tendrils made of flesh, sickly green and rotten, covered the walls like vines. The vents were yellow lungs that coughed and sputtered yellow air that flickered all around.
Shouldn't breathe in that air, but it was everywhere, choking everything.
A creature, like a man yet larger, too thin at the waist and too broad in the chest with a spine that bulged against flesh so tight it looked like it would tear, turned to look at him, but not with eyes. Other men, other women, all passed it by without notice, but he saw it and it knew he saw it.
There were other creatures, other monsters, all different, all unique, yet all the same. They scurried across the ceiling, clinging to the vines like the rungs of ladders, crawled along the walls and buzzed on wings through the air. Yet none saw them, none but him.
The lights flickered and they were all gone. The walls and ceiling were barren, the vents were just vents. The people were just people. Yet one stood out, one who hadn't been there before, who stood in the place of the first monster. It turned and smiled at him, revealing glistening white teeth, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.
"Tide, what the hel was that?" Aliciel asked, confused and a little perturbed.
I'm thinking about writing a horror movie.
"Starring yourself as the monster?"
On the face of it, yes, but the real monster is going to be capitalism.