THE SECOND SILENT HILL

by KYLA 

The darkness, the siren, the blood
crackling down like rawhail, distancing the fire of each victim’s cry.
The peeling of pain and the production of suffocating dust.
Luxurious, yet frightening.
The echoing of former conversations, the memory of past bench trials,
the raging image of accusations
swirling around.
The scythe,
the shadow,
the victims,
the blood.
Ghostly figures dance along the very memory of living, the flashback of each slaughter.
The disappearance of each….then, the thick silence of lost time.