found drama

The outside has grown so large that it has come inside; the inside has expanded to shelter it.  The blending brings on a terrible fear.  Where has everyone gone?  Are they all dead?  There are no bodies but neither are there graves nor tenants.  The Dog warns me that They come and We must prepare.  We cautiously explore the space.  Grand foyer after ballroom after auditorium; there are no small rooms.  Enormous and ornate staircases spring up from random spots in the black-and-white tiles; we dare not go up there unprotected.  The Dog and His Master both warn me not to stray far from the camp they have set up near the fireplace.  I feel like a little kid in some huge patriarch’s house, like I will someday grow into the scale of this place but for now it brings only terror.  We do not speak much, The Dog or I or His Master; but we all share the fear.  They come.

About Rob Friesel