Desaturated light, weak,

you have to squint your eyes

rotting wooden walls,

holes punched through them

intermittently.

-

The floor grabs

at your ankles. Centipedes

scramble over your bare

feet, scratching their

way over flesh

cold as death.

-

It's chilling;

so frozen you've stopped

shaking. So scared you've stopped

breathing, but you don't need to

anymore.