MountainRhythm

A slight itch travels across your skin, across your brow and through the muscles of your arm. As you scratch your brow, you notice the gash in your hand, it is infected and green and it doesn't look healthy at all. You cut yourself with the scissor before, just a little cut on your finger as you cut out a band-aid for your gash. Flies are on your floor, they can't fly. Suddenly, silence.

A slight itch travels across your skin, across your brow and through the muscles of your arm. As you scratch your brow, you notice the gash in your hand, it is infected and green and it doesn't look healthy at all. You cut yourself with the scissor before, just a little cut on your finger as you cut out a band-aid for your gash. Flies are on your floor, they can't fly. Suddenly, silence.

"How long have I been sitting here?" A figure sat in the corner of a small room that had really high cielings. He had blonde,ruffled hair and lightgrey eyes that shone weakly in the dark. The figure wore a black hoodie with a short arms and a white circle on the chest, a pair of black and dusty jogging-pants. He tapped restlessly on the floor with his sturdy ankle boots, you could barely see their warm and creamy colour through the layers of dust and dirt. "How long?" He asked again, the echo of his half-matured voice made him feel a little lonely. Josef, that was this young mans name. He was around sixteen years old and he was pretty tal