One Hundred and Sixteen
These quiet halls are bleak with emptiness.
My footsteps, slow and loud, alert no one.
The door to my room grows taller,
more menacing with each step.
Reluctant hands flip over the keys
searching for number 116.
Building the courage to enter takes
what seems like an hour.
Standing in the fluorescent lighting,
a long corridor turns sharp,
Do I have to?
Eventually, forcefully, I shove the key inside.
Just two turns left, like a game.
A sharp slap of the lock rings in my ears,
my head pangs with my chest.
The door is unlocked.
Slowly, the door knob spins a release.
Shaking hands lose their grip and
silent hinges swing inward towards darkness.
The room is lifeless.
He is dead.
I am alone.