Nowhere Man

Backrooms mince raft

I had a vision of dreadful fire. Eight sentinels guarding the gate. I saw a laid out funeral pyre. Hate boiling, a lake of hate; I saw the pit of tartarus, A sinful souls final fate, I stared into the inky darkness, And saw those fuckass Cinnamon Toast Crunch guys

This is painfully cliche and amateur and too short and probably riddled with grammatical errors but it's my first time writing for real. If anyone ends up liking it, I might expand it, but until then this is probably for the buzzards. The sky was a flat, white-gray that day. It seemed like a great expanse of shifting stone. A little girl named Lucille held her mother’s hand tightly while scaling the long, winding steps up the cliff. The salty wind threatened to knock her hat off. To their right, the gray sea stretched on endlessly, their ship already steaming its way back across it, not to return for a week. To their left stood the great palace of Baron Anders. While technically a palace, it seemed more like a fortress. It was tall, stone, and square; seeming far too large for the mountaintop it was perched on.

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