Drip.
This sewer is a graveyard. For rats, cockroaches, creatures — utterly devoid of life, of anything... except me. I'm certainly alone; it's deathly silent besides my footsteps, echoing with abundance amongst the distant drips of condensation.
Drip.
A cold, forboding draft suddenly sweeps the sewer. I stop, frozen, goosebumps bristling my neck.
Drip.
As the footsteps continue regardless, the confidence in my solitude festers.
Through the darkness emerges a beast swamped by void, cloaked by mire. Ebbing, flowing, dripping bloodlust and amorphous mossy sludge to the floor. Faceless. Eyeless, yet staring.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
This sewer... is my graveyard.
About the Creator
M. Edwards
Writing for the sake of writing. I love bizarrely niche essays, fiction and recently, poetry. Not a professional - yet.
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