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wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2012-12-13 01:44 pm
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2012-12-13 01:44 pm
Entry tags:
✖ anxiety attack: 000.3 ✖ Prelude ✖
That winter was one of the most bitter she'd experienced in the town, leaving her and the puppy sequestered inside the apartments, only venturing out when all the food spoiled and returning quickly to the safety indoors.
The hauntings had grown worse. The ghost of the young boy that wandered the halls seemed stressed. Something was changing in the town, and it made her hackles stand on end. Even the German shepherd was growling at things that flickered just out of the corners of their eyes. It wasn't until spring that she started to see the physical changes.
The color was getting leeched out of her work. Graffiti that she'd spent hours or even days on was fading away until only the black and red remained. Browns and greens tarnished to ugly mold and water stains, vivid murals disappeared altogether. Paint crumbled and chipped and flaked away in large scabs, leaving only the tape base behind. After a while, even that began to peel as the perpetually gloomy weather weakened the adhesive.
Changes that she'd made and fortifications left over from even before her time were crumbling faster than she could repair them. Little things she'd left in rooms as reminders would be moved or disappear completely unless she collected them and moved them to her room first. The town was reverting itself, changes sweeping across the ghost village overnight.
She hardly noticed how the seasons changed in her mad scramble to stay one step ahead, until she woke up one morning in the bed she hadn't slept in since her first three months in the town. The taste of cinnamon was sharp and strong on her tongue, flooding her mouth with the flavor. As she stared up at the water stains on the ceiling, her lips split back from her teeth in something that was nothing at all like a smile.
The hauntings had grown worse. The ghost of the young boy that wandered the halls seemed stressed. Something was changing in the town, and it made her hackles stand on end. Even the German shepherd was growling at things that flickered just out of the corners of their eyes. It wasn't until spring that she started to see the physical changes.
The color was getting leeched out of her work. Graffiti that she'd spent hours or even days on was fading away until only the black and red remained. Browns and greens tarnished to ugly mold and water stains, vivid murals disappeared altogether. Paint crumbled and chipped and flaked away in large scabs, leaving only the tape base behind. After a while, even that began to peel as the perpetually gloomy weather weakened the adhesive.
Changes that she'd made and fortifications left over from even before her time were crumbling faster than she could repair them. Little things she'd left in rooms as reminders would be moved or disappear completely unless she collected them and moved them to her room first. The town was reverting itself, changes sweeping across the ghost village overnight.
She hardly noticed how the seasons changed in her mad scramble to stay one step ahead, until she woke up one morning in the bed she hadn't slept in since her first three months in the town. The taste of cinnamon was sharp and strong on her tongue, flooding her mouth with the flavor. As she stared up at the water stains on the ceiling, her lips split back from her teeth in something that was nothing at all like a smile.