The Room Of Doom

The large, echoey room was pitch black and frigidly cold. If you stepped inside, your footsteps would echo loudly, sending shivers down your spine, and you would immediately wished you had worn your thick, warm sweater. Sometimes, a spotlight would flicker into the middle of the room, providing temporarily relief. The shining light focused on a single blood red flower, withering in your midst. And when the lights would flicker off, you would start breathing heavily and your heart beat quicker once again. You would look around the room for an exit, only to find you couldn’t see. The room was so large, it would take you ages to even reach the edge once again. If you were to run your hand against the wall in hope of finding any passage leading you far away from here, you wouldn’t find anything. There wouldn’t be any forms of entry or exit whatsoever. Then the spotlight would flicker in the distance onto the dying flower again, frightening you beyond imagination. And as soon as the lights would flicker off, you would hear noises. No, not noises, a voice. A single voice would echo through the room, telling you to run, hide, that you were alone. Which you would be. At least, you thought so… And that, lovely as it is, is what would happen if you were to step into the room of doom.

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