Bear Tracks

Stalking
Stalking

It’s a feeling that I would never wish upon a brother or sister living upon this earth, yet I wanted someone to know how I felt as I stared up at the pealed grey paint curling from the ceiling and the odor of the dank lifeless smell of cold dead air. Yes, that grey paint – perhaps it was battle ship grey – was everywhere from the iron reinforced concrete walls to steel door. Grey, with stains from hundreds of previous occupants who spat and urinated and scratched and clawed at the walls, had enveloped my life and now I was afraid my mind and thoughts and will to live had taken on that same lifeless shade and now my existence was reduced to a heap of clammy and insensible melancholy full of delusions that clouded my memory.

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