moss covered walls.

polished floors.

the halls are silent. the colors of the rooms are painlessly bland. the open area calling, begging to be used somehow.

the floor squeaks every little while, the old thought of running down these halls still lingers in transparent figures mind, the idea of their sneakers squeaking as they turn each corner. their hands grabbing the wall as they come around each time. running their hand in the cracks of the dry wall. wishing they could have come there more often.

each room feels a bit more empty, even though its just the same room, over, and over, and over, and over each time. some how each one feels more empty, none of them containing anything special, maybe a forgotten chair or table. maybe some old paper work or files. the lights make each room glow, reflecting off the newly polished floors, at least, they think they're newly polished. the ever lasting hum of the ac unit runs endlessly in the background, when did they get an ac? they don't remember having one years ago, then again they don't remember anything from years ago. as far as they know the floor always looked like they were polished.

-

from an outside view the building is falling apart, the walls crumbling down, vines and new life covering the once polished floors. but now unlike years ago, the floor tiles are barley seen, and they're definitely not polished, more or less now tiles of moss. the ceilings of the room no longer are a ceiling, most are used as flooring now, for the many whom walk through this area, "remembering the past". but it looks nothing as it once was, for they can only imagine what the walls once looked like, how painless boring the colors were, how squeaky the floors once were compared to child sneakers. the crumbling walls can only outline what the building once was, many think maybe a school because of the repeating rooms, or maybe an office building, a strip mall, diner? all are good guesses, for the buildings that was once standing was merely a storage building, scraps of the metal doors can be seen thrown about in the overgrow around the once standing walls of the building. old files can still be found in desks, pieces of chairs and tables are scattered around inside the walls.

-

the walls feel hollow, they never feel strong enough to hold up a whole building. once again in the next repeated room, the floors are polished and the walls painlessly bland, a table or chair, papers. over, and over. the transparent figures yells in anger, they just want the exit, all they wanted years ago was to be here now they wanted out. out. out. out. out. out. out. out. out.
where's the exit.
running down the repeated halls, they never end, going on and on, over and over. they stop walking over to the table and single chair in the empty room. years ago there was an exit, they remember it so vividly, but why can't they find it now? why is it always just out of reach? they run they're fingers over the table, newly cleaned, not a spot of dust, nor on the chair.
looking over the papers thrown around the room, they all have writing, lots to be exact, but no matter how close or far away they get from the paper it's just too blurry to read, as if they've never been able to understand the words at all. the anger in them as settled, they're lost once again. plopping on the floor, it feels cold, the room feels cold, did they have an ac? why we're they mad again? what are they doing on the floor, they need to be looking for the exit. they get and follow the repeated rooms once again as the circle continues, as if they were stuck in a loop.

-

everyone claims the building is "haunted" they say screams of anger can be heard the same time everyday, as if it's playing on loop, yet there's no one around. some people say they've seen the building in their dreams, the polished floor and painlessly bland wall colors, no one believes them, all stuck in their own reality of the building, refusing to believe these piles of crumbling walls were someone so boring at one point and time.
people come and take pieces of walls or flooring. but why? why take it. leave it for nature to consume, and make its own?
as soon as a group comes another arrives, filling the empty, quiet space with people talking and laughing, throwing sticks and rocks. kicking around the dirt, then leaving seemingly hours later, just as another arrives. doing the same, in a loop.

but only if they could have seen those polished floors, and painlessly bland walls, and heard the hum of the never ending ac unit. only if.

(821 words)