Music

A writing prompt that I wrote about seven/eight months ago. 

It was a dark quiet room. Everything was made of metal and gray was everywhere. It was starting to infect him now. But, he hadn’t moved an inch, still standing as tall and still as a proud statue. Nothing was moving, not the furniture, or the mice that lived under the now empty bed frame. Silence coated everything in its invisible thick butter. It was making it hard to breathe, afraid if he does, it will be the end of him. Who cares, he thought to himself. He can almost certainly see his own skin turning into cold gray metal. Soon I’ll just be part of the furniture anyways. His breathing was slowing down, starting to come deliberately now. He shut his eyes, and just begged for it to be over with, so he can get out of the silent room.

Just as he was sure it was the end of it, he heard some distant far off sound. Music! He thought excitedly.

To be continued?