When will I find a way out? Broken doors, endless rummaging through a deserted household, smell of meth in my inner jowl, 12 headless bodies stored under my bed, broken bone charr and isoporyl alcohol attacking the senses. I cannot see, I cannot see, it all becomes a dull sheen, the once sparkling twinkle of the silver guillotine no longer in motion. The world is frozen, the plane is flat, no such thing as an axis of revolution when all that is seen is a single color of monochromicity.
