Just a building...

There is a building, tucked back, down the street.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has a lobby, with clean white floors, and decorative plants.
The welcome mat greets only the feet of those it trusts.
The information desk is wiped clean on top,
With a box of lonely brochures, made a decade ago, on a dusty shelf underneath the counter.
Several portable tables are laying flat near a window.
On top of them, an extra large Taco Bell cup sits in a puddle of shrinking condensation.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has hallways,
Lots of winding hallways.
There are no guiding signs on the walls,
Just pricey, wood-adorned paintings of a bearded Man every few feet.
Only those who know the trail can find the Man.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has a large room.
507 chairs are lined up in rows, like choking purple crops with black stems.
The stage is large and carpeted in the same purple,
With the black stems of 6 or 7 microphone stands scattered throughout.
A glass podium with an etched logo stands in the front and center of the stage,
Boasting in a sea of silk leaves.
Carefully measured masking tape demands that the shiny clean glass of the glorious podium
Must stand at least 10 feet from the closest chairs,
About 200 miles from the chairs in back.
There are instruments, very expensive instruments,
Sitting.
LED lights and blinding white bulbs sleep above them.
The wall behind the stage is painted a deep dark blue,
With washed-out silver swirls to add some texture.
A little under an inch of moss is growing in a corner,
Silent.
The carpet is unstained, save a black chunk of gum near the door,
Where someone walked out,
Confused mouth agape,
Unfased by their slack jaw's mistake.
The doors are closed, locked, latched, and chained
Shut.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has a ceiling,
With a tiny hole,
Chewed through by the underlying termites.
Light from outside is so softly sifting down into the room,
Not even strong enough to be noticed,
Not even strong enough to stretch halfway to the floor.
And God peers through that hole
And sees no one.
He shakes His head as He tears,
"Inside, not a soul stirs."

Creepy. Dark. I like it.

Sorry I usually don't look for stuff to critique unless it's screaming at me. Nothing I read really bothered me while I read it. Seems nice. I like the style of the story, though I did have to double check to make sure that it was actually a short story and not a poem. It was just the way things were spaced out but I like it.

This story is just one of those stories where you wonder what the purpose of it was. What's the message? As good and interesting as it is you just can't quite put a finger on it.

I just want to know what inspired you to write this? Is there something more to this story? Does it mean there's no more life left? Sorry just questions going through my mind as I read it.

Good job though.

holdon1015 wrote:There is a building, tucked back, down the street.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has a lobby, with clean white floors, and decorative plants.
The welcome mat greets only the feet of those it trusts.
The information desk is wiped clean on top,
With a box of lonely brochures, made a decade ago, on a dusty shelf underneath the counter.
Several portable tables are laying flat near a window.
On top of them, an extra large Taco Bell cup sits in a puddle of shrinking condensation.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has hallways,
Lots of winding hallways.
There are no guiding signs on the walls,
Just pricey, wood-adorned paintings of a bearded Man every few feet.
Only those who know the trail can find the Man.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has a large room.
507 chairs are lined up in rows, like choking purple crops with black stems.
The stage is large and carpeted in the same purple,
With the black stems of 6 or 7 microphone stands scattered throughout.
A glass podium with an etched logo stands in the front and center of the stage,
Boasting in a sea of silk leaves.
Carefully measured masking tape demands that the shiny clean glass of the glorious podium
Must stand at least 10 feet from the closest chairs,
About 200 miles from the chairs in back.
There are instruments, very expensive instruments,
Sitting.
LED lights and blinding white bulbs sleep above them.
The wall behind the stage is painted a deep dark blue,
With washed-out silver swirls to add some texture.
A little under an inch of moss is growing in a corner,
Silent.
The carpet is unstained, save a black chunk of gum near the door,
Where someone walked out,
Confused mouth agape,
Unfased by their slack jaw's mistake.
The doors are closed, locked, latched, and chained
Shut.
Inside, not a soul stirs.

The building has a ceiling,
With a tiny hole,
Chewed through by the underlying termites.
Light from outside is so softly sifting down into the room,
Not even strong enough to be noticed,
Not even strong enough to stretch halfway to the floor.
And God peers through that hole
And sees no one.
He shakes His head as He tears,
"Inside, not a soul stirs."

I like the way this is written mate, like how the sentences are so spaced out. Sort of an almost poem flow about it, but it also gives the writer the ability to feel and see things the same way as the character/ narrator. Its very dark, which immediately reeled me in. Its a good piece. I fancy it.

I enjoyed reading this and forming the image in my mind of the abandoned building. Is it a church of some sort? If so then I think maybe there is a message in the story as another reviewer said they didn't find one. A building in which you expect life to thrive but is instead left to ruin, God peering down through a hole, perhaps you were thinking about peoples reluctance to be religious? The taco bell cup seemed like a kind of monument of disrespect and uncaring attitudes. I might be completely wrong but that's what I came up with
Jaz

Hey everyone!

I've never posted one of these before so I hope this works. =]

Jaz totally got the interpretation down! =] It's about how churches should be utilizing the space and energy that God has given them. Unfortunately, most (at least in my area) won't reach out to people and make them feel comfortable enough to come back or get involved.

Thanks, guys, for reading my story! I really appreciate the thoughts you told me! =]

I literally felt as if I was walking those hallways. That was a creepy journey you took me on. Great detail great description of setting, just great. Keep it up.

Thanks so much, Iain! =]