Extreme Tomato

As I stand before the desolate wasteland I see only the past. There can be no future here; no hope, no plans . That is not a luxury we are afforded.

The keys click nervously in my hand as I turn to face the door. On the other side? Nothing. The dank carpet and musky smell of a thousand stains ekes its way into my nostrils. The cracked walls and sagging ceilings jab their inadequacies into my every sense.

It has already consumed me - there can be no retreat.

I stare at the baron cell presented to me. Some might call this 'home'; I pity them. As I enter I discard my dignity, my pride, my self-worth – this is not a place I'll be needing them. The door slams unceremoniously behind me as I set my bag down in the small square of floor.

A moment of stark realisation hits as I look around. This kind of place envelops you; owns you; steals your very soul.

A noise tears through my muse. Not even thought is personal here. A foul and obnoxious beast makes itself known to me, bursting through the door with the incoherent growls of one long since lost to this place. I am borne reluctantly unto the kitchen by the creature I now call 'friend'.

Any remaining hope is extinguished. The tap drips sadly into the off-white basin as the peeling paint sets about poisoning us. The other inhabitants look on cruelly from their hiding places with eyes of burning hatred, their gaze fixed as I enter the room. I feel myself sinking, falling into the inescapable drudgery. Only the refrigerator breaks the silence, casting its monotonous whirr around the room with a dull reality.

I recant the events that led to this moment, the dreams, toil, effort. They say this is to be the 'best time of your life', 'they' are wrong. This is the side they don't show in the glossy brochures and glowing treatise. As I return to my room it dawns on me.

This is all there is to it. My hopes, my dreams, everything I sought to achieve results in this.