Grasping

I stand alone. The walls are bare and rotting. I can feel them beginning to wake, the floor pulsing beneath me, they were there as they always were. The claws reach up grasping for my calves, clawing at my flesh leaving streaks of blood. More hands reach up from nowhere clinging to my thighs and waist pulling me down, always down.

I am pulled down until I am kneeling, the claws of the beast reaching for my chest, what it truly wants. The claws begin to flay my flesh into ribbons of pale unwashed skin, curling like striped wallpaper. They begin tearing out my organs leaving only my heart, barely beating, within my exposed ribcage.

It is familiar, for this was not the first time. This was my existence in the unlit building that I called home. Unlike a home, this place was devoid of life, of love, of feeling, all that was left were the hands in the floor, the beast that manifests in the darkest of nights. The pain was all I have left. The claws were the only thing to touch me, to make me feel, to remind myself that I still exist.

The claws grip my ribcage and pull me flat on the floor, more and more of them reach out until my bones are all in their grasp. My organs are gone, my soul drifting from me, all that is left is my heart, barely beating. I open my mouth, not to scream, but to utter the last words for the night. If only they were here, if only they would love me. With that the hands grab hold of my faintly beating heart and it all goes black.

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