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May 31, 2005

Michele: Drained

I don’t like it here.
I can’t do this without you.

She pulled the child into the skeleton of the old hostel. Their feet kicked up layers of dust, which swirled around them like tiny little spirits.

The dust is biting me, mommy.

The woman grimaced as shapes gathered around her daughter, groping for innocence.

I don’t like it here.
Stay still. They’ll be gone soon.

She moved her hands along the floor until she found what they said she would.

A cacophony of mingled screams and cries rose up as a tornado of ghosts swirled down the drain.

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