There I stumbled, back into the same simple
scenario where patches of peeling leaden
paint presented a portrait of perfect ashen
drab concrete beneath what was once a
As the clock calmed to candles, cold crept
curiously across an already agitated air of
Heading down a hall, hoping to
find a hiding place, I heard a voice say, "Hello".
There, a horrifying hospitality held out her
hand for me. They call me "Merillo" she said.
As her bloodless and breathless lips began to
break before me as a sense of impeding doom
settled softly into sections of subconcious
Wandering words willed no worth,
but Lucifer's laugh could be heard laying latent
in her lungs.
Her decaying hand crumbled in mine, and I
couldn't help but say aloud, "I'm certainly
charmed to meet you, but come to think of it,
you do look rather dead".
As I thought to myself, "Could this be just a
scary slip of my senses?", I sadly supposed that
I was most surely mistaken. This morbid
meeting was no mere mirage, but rather a
real deathly date with the dearly departed.
This chilling conclusion raised concerns about
the corpse like qualities among the rest of the
crowd. My damning dilemma became
dreadfully delicate, but I dare say, I demanded
to know, Do the dead know they're dead?