|
fritz
|
The metal plated heels and toe caps of his plate boots clicked on the bare concrete with a decidedly metallic ring. Ambient noise of water dripping somewhere drowned out the noise, and coincidentally anything else. It was rhythmic, each different drip falling at a fixed interval, each at a different speed. The echoes chasing down the slick walls gave the impression of being constantly, subtly followed. He didn’t like the feeling of being observed. Memories in hallways of gleaming white tile and blinding fluorescents flickered by. But this tunnel was defunct. Full of nothing but stained tile and broken bulbs.
|
041113
|
