By Martin J. Sabine
When I look at this ruinous place I feel its pain, the windows look back at me like the eyes of an
empty soul we share the numbness of being left behind. This abandoned house stands skeletal in its urban surroundings its walls no longer keep it safe, no longer repel the rain or snow, stripped of its dignity it succumbs to gravity dying slowly, creaking in the gusting winds.
The smell of decay, mildew and stale dank air thick with dust defines its character, shafts of light
bursting through the gaps in the roof and broken windows illuminate the empty shell, it's like a void, a never ending dark void that consumes everything, so your left feeling nothing. Empty. Its emptiness is all consuming it subsides in the shadows it creeps up and envelopes you in its shrouded mist, you cannot pretend that everything is OK because it’s not, this place like me is a derelict soul.
EDITOR'S NOTE
Imagine if you could play derelict soul. I imagine it would sound a lot like the sniper nest in Full Metal Jacket. Then again, dereliction never leaves you engulfed in shrill sounds that molest your spine. Rather, it often gives you a sense of calm - or the wonder of story sets in as your brain starts to associate what it might have looked like in its prime. Yeah, that's it.