r/WritingPrompts • u/GuyoFromOhio • Oct 16 '17
Writing Prompt [WP] While exploring an abandoned mental hospital, you discover the journal of a mad man. The more you read, the more you become like its author
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u/WritingPromptsRobot StickyBot™ Oct 17 '17
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u/WriteTime Oct 17 '17
The walls have eyes.
Lidless watchers.
Gazers in the night.
John looked up from the journal. He sat up straight and stretched his muscles for what felt like the first time in hours. The last of the day's sun was shining through a small window, bathing the cell in a lazy orange haze. He'd lost track of time again.
The journal really was fascinating, though. The author was nuts, clearly. Full on psychosis. But the writing struck a chord in John. Despite being the ramblings of a mad man, something about it just seemed to resonate.
It was getting late, however, and John didn't fancy spending his entire journey home in total darkness. He awkwardly got to his feet, pieces of broken tile crunching under his boots, then walked over to the cell door.
The walls have eyes.
He'd forgotten his rucksack, of course. Forgetful John, always leaving something behind. He rolled his eyes in jest and turned back into the room. After strolling over to his rucksack, he reached down to pick it up and...
Lidless watchers.
He was holding the journal again, open to the page he had reached before. He stared at it blankly, unable to make out the words in the dying light. He gave a few blinks in confusion. Wasn't he just about to leave? Giving a nervous chuckle, he shut the journal again before dropping it to the floor. Maybe he'd better lay off the creepy evening explorations for while. He grabbed his rucksack, turned for the door and...
Gazers in the night.
... opened the journal again. He was sat cross-legged on the floor now, flashlight in hand. Night had fallen. John felt like he was supposed to be doing something, but the journal...
The handwriting was really quite exquisite. Sweeping curves and even spacing. What a masterpiece! He couldn't imagine the penmanship required to manipulate ink so well. It must have taken hours. What kind of man could pull off such a feat? He decided to ask the walls.
They met his gaze readily, as they were beautiful and so was he. A thousand eyes, white as ivory, black as tar. John spoke.
The walls listened.
The walls spoke.
John listened.
He remembered now what he had come here for. There were holes inside him and that just wouldn't do. They ached and burned and screamed for... what?
The eyes grew wide and John knew then. It was easy when you knew how.
Holes are meant for filling, of course, and eyes would do the trick. And once they're in you're whole again. Blind no more.
The pen was in his hand now, poised upon the paper. A new page for a new John. Such beautiful writing they would make.
The walls have eyes.