The drawings on the walls had crumpled and deformed, leaving behind harrowing skeletons of what had once been art. Maybe it used to be an art room, maybe a homeroom. I couldn’t tell. The ceiling looked caved in, and that if the slightest creature were to scamper across, it would collapse in a heap. Perhaps something heavy was right above, pushing down and weakening it. A fully intact globe rested against the wall, on it’s side, looking worn out, next to a trashcan that filled with papers. I feared for my life, not only because of the damnable structure, but because of shadows that keep catching my eye. I would catch a glimpse of something, only to find nothing there. Above the door, the abandoned, impaired clock no longer ticked, and it had probably been decades since it last made a noise.
“Why am I here?” I whisper, and it bounces right back at me, repeating itself. “Why am I here?” I say louder, and this time I can hear the echo clearly. Without carpeting, the room was left with nothing to absorb the sound. It bounced right back into my