There once was a dwarf; dreary was he, without a Smith's tools and as bored as a knee. With nothing to do, he left his little shed; adorned with colorful flowers that smelled like a summer day. Then came a bird, glorious and free; tweeting away like a bundle of glee. "Hallo Monsieur Manchester!" The bird squeaked excitedly, flapping her wings and hopping around. The dwarf looked puzzled at the bird having known his name. He crossed his arms and dug in his heel, as grumpy as grumpy can be. "Of what is it that you visit for, that you know my name and tweet it?" He questioned questioningly as he stared down the bird dancing prettily. The bird's feathers shed, dropping; just two. "I came for nothing more than just to visit you! I have heard there is a grumpy dwarf who lives around these parts, that can use a little dance and some singing to melt his heart!" The lady bird sung a little song, albeit none was better than her dancing. "The sky's so blue, a bundle of hue, and the sun is just right for feeling~" She squawked and she spun, her fun never done, and she circled around the old man. "Come now, join me! You'll never know if you like it if you stand there all day with your mouth closed!" The old dwarf with his gray beard took in a deep breath of fresh air, stepping through moss to a rock. "The day wastes away with an old man inside, discovering the joys of... Nothing. But a bird comes to find him, dancing away, and she shows him the joy of... Something." His voice was like a waterfall; harsh but beautiful. The lady bird twirled, ecstatic with joy, enjoying his tune even If his lyrics were lacking. "Your singing is a gem!" She giggled, flying around him in awkward circles. "But just like every new gem, it takes time to excavate it. Keep practicing, Manchester, and one day you could be the best singer under all of the stars!" And with that, she flew off, dazzling and strange; leaving the dwarf with a smile.

OFFICE

What must I do,
                                    to leave the endless gray plastered walls behind,

to return to what is mine? What should I do

                        to escape the clipped office desks stuck in walls,

worn down chairs

            with tarnished hopes that mimic your way out.

Yet but a day ago, in my old worn apartment,

                                                            I readied myself for my job

warm black coffee in hand

                                                car keys and melodic radio band.

But now I am found stuck looping in dusty halls

                                    where the aged scent of blood graces ancient walls.

Now, sound is silence filled only by the buzzing of overhead lights,

            objects moving in the distance, footsteps, but not mine?

Who?

            I hear myself; I am not breathing, yet my heart beats hard enough

for me and it to hear.

            I feel the strain from running too fast, I’m in danger.

Will I make it out alive?

                                                Will I make it out, alive?

Chapter 1: All ends have beginnings.

✵⊰˓───────────────────────────────────────────˒⊱✵

Useless.

You could barely see, blood dripping into your eyes and covering the entirety of your face. Even without it though, your vision was fuzzy and you could hardly focus on one place.

You could faintly feel someone's hands on you, holding you far too close for comfort and pressing painfully up against your wounds.

You try looking to see who it is, but your sight is way too blurry to make out anything remotely close to you.

It's frustrating, being stuck in a position where you can do nothing but lay here and die. You wish you could do something, you really do, but you can't. Not when your body is too weak to move.

The person who was hugging you uncomfortably tight said something to you, but you weren't really paying attention anymore. You didn't have the strength to ask them to repeat it, either.

"Don't.. please! I... be alone..!" ...Was all you heard. And on any other day, you would be trying to figure out what they just said...

But to be honest... you're too hurt.

...and, too tired.

God, you want to sleep. To seep into the ground below you and just never wake up again..

...And maybe, just maybe... Drifting off to sleep is worth a try.

But..

What about the exit? And your freedom? What about getting out of this strange never ending hellhole? Are you really just going to let getting mauled by some oddly-drawn doorkeeper be the death of you?

...

What happened to your will to live?

Is this really... you?

---

A book I'm writing~