In my present moment I walk down a hallway. A hallway that has no visual end. High, strong, brick walls stand parallel to one another as they shepherd me to follow the direction the sidewalk governs. In doing so the walls deepen and feel as if they are grappling. Panic. If I can't find a way out soon then this hallway will soon be nothing more than a solitary wall preserving the very life of me for no one to find. I become hysterical as I rush, fighting the elapsing time to what I feel may be the end of all hope. Doors I find are tall and made of steel with an iron lock seal. As I approach each one I lose belief that I'll see another day. The walls of rustic brick move closer in to its twin, as if yearning to become part of one another. Alarmed, I run. I just want to get as far from the entrapment that I dread will be my dead end. All is dark. I feel the raw, coarse brick scraping the outside of my shoulders. I cannot run anymore. I incline my back perpendicular to one wall, awaiting the other to kiss my face with its rough and unyielding torture of macerating death. Just as I feel the frigid temperature pulsating off the rocky exterior of each significant brick, I faint.
Good night my little chickens, till I feed you another day.
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