A Place Designed for Discomfort of Varying Intensities

Ascending stairs to the 4th floor,
Where meeting rooms are housed -
Suddenly, jarringly, stepping into what could be the set of a 1980s horror film,
Engulfed in powerfully vivid shades of pink, orange, and blood, blood red.

The winding halls
Too narrow along the curves
Intersect in inexplicably large spaces.
The ceiling
Slightly too low.
The brightly polished floor and walls
Reflect the eerie bloody light equally as well as
They amplify and reflect even the slightest sound.
Feet stepping, elevator dinging, throat coughing,
It all circulates and echoes back to me here.
Yet, nothing audible emerges from any nearby meeting rooms.
Confused by this paradox,
I admire the architect's supreme understanding of acoustics.

Imagination running rampant -
The stereotypical scene of a girl running
Panicked
Through the halls.
Looking back
To check for her pursuer.
My heart quickens with the contemplation.

My work may not be done here but
I certainly am.
Somber and subdued,
Squeaky footfalls reverberating,
Winding back toward where a safer place must exist.

One last observation -
Dragging fingers along the wall.
The paint has a lingering, hungering texture.
No amount of rubbing my hand on my pants
Can remove the feeling of that place.
It clings to me long after I
Descend the steps back into the world I knew before.