In an old abandoned shack, a CRT television set from the 1990s rests, sitting rooted to a table of wood. The wind squeezes in through the windows, an unwelcome visitor.
BANG!
From the depths of the black box comes a ghostly pale hand; palm smacked onto the lifeless screen as it tries to crawl its way out of the hell pits. As skeletal fingers grasp onto whatever they can take hold of, shrieks of pain and howls of despair make but sound amidst the silence.
Dark winds prompt Reality to pick up the gun, lithe arms threatening suffocation as she moves.
Pleads and supplication.
Malicious taunts.
All for nothing, but death.
As Reality shuts down,
we
are stuck in a surreal state.
BANG!
From the depths of the black box comes a ghostly pale hand; palm smacked onto the lifeless screen as it tries to crawl its way out of the hell pits. As skeletal fingers grasp onto whatever they can take hold of, shrieks of pain and howls of despair make but sound amidst the silence.
Dark winds prompt Reality to pick up the gun, lithe arms threatening suffocation as she moves.
Pleads and supplication.
Malicious taunts.
All for nothing, but death.
As Reality shuts down,
we
are stuck in a surreal state.