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Post by flamingdj on Jan 21, 2008 21:35:46 GMT 1
The walls were scorched black, the wallpaper peeling at the corners. The ceiling was a murky grey colour; somebody had been setting fires to small piles of newspaper on the floorboards. The only mystery was the floorboards looked clean enough, they weren't covered in ashes or even dusty. In one corner of the room, an old wooden chair sat on its lonesome, the paint flaking. There was only one other door leading from this room. Inside this sub-room, there was a stack of newspapers; they were piled from floor to ceiling. Thousands of them. At the bottom they were yellowing and crumpled, but nearer the top they seemed to be white and crisp. Behind the pile of papers, there was a mattress. It was worn and still warm.
But no-one was home. The place felt lonely and empty. Nothing but a shell.
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