Night 63: West Wing South Hall A

[stop_the_rain]

[from here]

Footsteps echoing in the dingy corridors, Murphy kept his ears alert for the slightest crackle of static or rumble of thunder. But he heard neither. Something was...off here. More off.

"You know you've got problems when you're worried about levels of fucked-upness," he muttered to himself, peering around the corner into a wider hallway. It looked like it led out of the patient room wing. No monsters in here, and no Cunningham either.

Not to mention a lack of jarring paperwork scattered about. But of course there wasn't, what was left?

"Don't try to understand. You're not going to, not like this. Just...get out."

That core objective remained the same. Get out. Get...somewhere. Anywhere. Make like the couple in the song, go down south to Mexico and live on the beach. Lay in the sun and drink fruity drinks all day, try and be happy.

But first, another damned hallway....

Comments

[skeletonenigma]

[To here.]