Mood Exercise 230601

Roaming these halls,

these sombre silent walls,

I feel a presence,

a shadowy presence,

one that neither cares

nor wants. The clarity

sought is not in this

dead place, devoid

of anything but my

own breathing. And

the soft brush

of the chill wind

swathing each measured

step I take.

The ceiling is

black to me:

its looming heights

conceal much and

my neck aches

from extending backwards

to view. No

light from my

lamp will disclose;

nothing but resumption.

Into one room

I enter, and therein

stands, alone, a

chair. Draped across

one arm appears

to be a

coat, perhaps a

cloak, perhaps a cape.

It could be

anything; my first

sight fails me so

I slowly walk up

to it, aware of

the sudden lights moving.

This oblong is

a room of mirrors,

tall and slender,

reaching higher than

two tall giants

one on top of the

other. Can I

know it? Dare

I believe it.

The chair sits

central in this

narrow room. Behind

me I sense

a presence, and

I turn. But

all I can

see easily is the

lamp light reflecting

off the polished

floor. In the

distance of my

entrance, a blackness

stares back at

me. I take a moment

to adjust for

I believe it

is just the open

doors, ajar

and beyond it

a midnight from

the light-less hall.

“Who is there?”

Silence responds, I

wait. Silence resumes.

Satisfied, I turn

to the chair.

I see now

the draped object

is some heavy

velveteen, the

pale lamp light reflections…


© 2017 L. Tafa


Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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