"Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" your voice echos down an old narrow hall. The only answer is your same voice over and over again until eventually even that dies out. Dies the word sounds colder with the echo in my head than if it was screamed through the hall. The air is cold, but not cold enough. The air like poison seeping through your skin with every breathe you take. Finally you turn your back on the door and continue your way down the hall with nothing but the small bit of faith that anyone or anything is down there. For loneliness, is the worst death one could face, when your only company is an echo.
My friend the Echo
April 26, 2011