The room is dark and only a faint glow can be seen from under a door. It is only seven feet by five feet, with a roof of six feet. The floor and walls are cement; cold and hard. It is moist and damp; one can hear water dripping from the roof every several seconds. The stench of rotting flesh fills the stagnate air.
It is cold, hard, and smells of death. Wet and musty. Repugnant to all five senses. If the concept of death could be viewed, this room would epitomize it. Nothing is heard except the drops of water hitting the floor. The air is so thick it slows the sound as if the water was falling in slow motion. Standing in the room the only motion or sound is that of the water in the middle of the room. It is to dark to see anything else, but if you stay long enough another sound would appear.
Breathing. It takes awhile until you ears will hear it, but once you do it grows louder. It comes from a corner. Taking a step closer you pull out a lighter. As sparks flicker a flame lights up the corner. A pale body sits against the wall; knees up its chest. Naked the person sits there. The eyes are bloodshot and gray staring into oblivion; never blinking. As you observe the human, you realize the smell of the room comes from person's flesh rotting off their living body.
The skin is tight against the bones. Never eating. Never moving. Only breathing and rotting this body sits there. As you gaze upon the person, you take a step closer. Fear then grips you. Your heart stops. You quickly take a step back and trip over yourself; the lighter falls to the floor, restoring the darkness. As you lay on the wet floor, your mind reels; the person you saw was you.
Welcome to your mind, your soul. It is cold, dark, alone and dying. Your flesh is rotting off your body. You are bleeding from your eyes. Your muscles barely work.
'Tis dark.
'Tis alone.
'Tis rotting.
As your laying there and braking down from the realization of the condition of your soul, never forget the door with the faint glow.
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