Atmosphere of Nowhere

Everything is wrong, but quietly.

Rooms stretch too far, ceilings loom too low.

The world feels built for someone much larger than you — or perhaps, for no one at all.

The air is heavy with damp rot and the sound of distant machinery.

Metal groans. Pipes hiss. Something drips, endlessly.

You can’t tell if it’s water, oil… or something else.

Colors are muted — pale yellows, bruised blues, the sickly glow of old bulbs that never go out.

Every shadow hides a shape that might be watching.

Every creak sounds like footsteps, coming closer.

Time doesn’t move here.

The clocks tick, but nothing changes.

Meals are served, but no one eats.

The world breathes slow and deep, like it’s dreaming.

And through it all — the **feeling**.

That you are small.

That you were never meant to see this place.

That the walls know your name, and they are waiting for you to forget it.