The Arrival of the Asylum: Overwhelming Awareness
I arrived at the asylum close to dusk. And right in front of me was this great institution, far bigger than I would have ever imagined it to be. The entrance is well-framed by very tall rusty gates, and these have been rusting for a good long time. The grounds around had apparently grown over the building itself. Ivy climbed along the brick walls, and broken windows stared back like dark holes into nothingness. The view alone was enough to make anyone wonder if they had made the right decision to enter the place, but I had come too far to go back now.
The creaking gate swung open beneath my pressure as I walked toward the main entrance. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, as if the atmosphere itself was carrying the weight of the past. Walking into the asylum was stepping into another world. The silence was oppressive, lacerated by the impossible fall of debris on the floor or sometimes the distant squeak of old moving doors in the breeze. Dust swirled through the air, and mildew and decay filled the noses. However, beneath all that lay something else: this bizarre, almost electric energy like the walls were pulsing it.
