This must be what it feels like, what dying feels like. Cold. Isolated. Bright.
You'd expect the dark, but some schmuck is always raving about "seeing the light," and honestly it isn't wrong. Everything's been getting brighter by the second, developing coronas and stinging my eyes.
My skin burns, though. It may be cold, but every inch of my body is subject to searing pain -- the skin feels like paper moments before it's ripped.
Then is this Hell? I never expected Hell to feel so...alone. I never expected Hell to be an industrial refrigerator.
But here I am, sitting on the floor, my exposed legs gathering frost sticking to the tile. It must've been ten minutes or so since I decided to sit down in front of the fan. No one could hear me knock. The emergency mechanism jammed. Cell service? If only.
No one came down here, into the basement. I was the only person that restocked the bar, so no one would be checking in for some times -- especially on such a busy night.
The walls are closing in; I swear the walls are closing in on me. This room is my coffin. I know I'm going to die here, what's a beer of twelve? My numb hands feel awkward and the frosty bottles claw and jab at my fingers, but there's nothing left to do but get drunk and wait for God...or Satan...or nothing. What if it really is nothing? I die and that's that. Life had no purpose, and I become nothing, unable to feel the cold or to mull over introspective, spiritual bullshit.
I'll take my clothes off now.
The fan touching my naked back hits me like a hot nail, and numb as I am, I feel my skin crack and bleed.
Hope is gone. Abandon all hope ye who enter this fridge. Ha, that's funny. Curious Traveler is an apt choice of beer for this.
No one will save me. No one ever comes down here.
But they all end up down here eventually.
Submitted June 10, 2015 at 06:00PM by Grindhorse http://ift.tt/1QQCBIV shortscarystories
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