I knew where I was. I knew exactly where. And I did not want to be there.


It's happening again. You know when the walls start to drip and warp leaking overly viscous oil that smells like death it's time to move. So I ran. Fast. The door on my left always leads to that infinite upward spiraling staircase so I kept running. The door coming up on my right never leads to the same place except when you need it to, and I did. With great effort I tugged on the massive steel handles. The Cyclopean portal slowly gave way, singing ever louder the tune of scraping metal. Gears, springs and ornate clock faces surged through the widening gap in the wall, gathering themselves up into working time pieces which ticked and tocked in practised unison.

and as the clockwork choir assembled upon the furthest wall,
silence fell and crushed them all.