Dead Killer (8)
It was the most surreal experience he had ever had. There was a sense of calmness in the place but it was not of peace. Rather, he was dreading the strange world he had entered.
The world around him was dead. He was not sure how else to put it but it really felt dead or sleeping. Not a single sound could be heard. Even in the midst of complete silence, there was always a sound. Whether it was slow breathing or drops of water falling in a sink. Sometimes, insects would cry or the sounds of horns would erupt in the distance.
But now he was scared that he had gone deaf. The silence was ominously alluring him to its embrace, seducing him as if he wanted to be there. It was, after all, his own bedroom. He lived there.
"What is this?" he whispered. He looked around the place. Everything was a replica of his room. The desk, the bed and even the pen he had dropped on the floor were exactly how he put it. His towel lay on the chair where he had tossed it.