The window was stained and broken, a little bit too perfectly. The walls were covered in graffiti and reeked of mould. The floor I was sitting on felt cold and damp, as if a large bucket of water had been dumped on it. In the corner of the room, sat an old leather chair, it was torn in multiple places, almost like scratch marks. Bugs crawled through it, ruling over it like a little empire. A man sat there, looking down at me, his face covered by his wide-brimmed top hat, as micro-sized insects crawled all over him. I realised they were living in him. His gaze felt bitter and harsh. He made no sound, allowing silence to thrive. For a long time, the man stayed completely still, continuing to glare at me, his stare feeling colder by the minute. A hundred thoughts going through my brain at once, and this man was ninety-nine of them, I was slowly beginning to question how I got here. I stayed seated on the cold, damp floor, realising my ankles had been chained together, they felt constricting around my ankles. Finally, mystery man stood up and muttered what I perceived as hello.
The sound left his mouth, but his lips didn't move. Chills flew down my spine, like a bullet train. He stood over me; it was a weird sensation he didn't feel. Solid, almost like I could stick out my arm and reach through him. I sat there feeling like I was frozen in time and space, my head flying through my recent memories. 'Who was this man?'
