Day 26

You wouldn't believe what washes up on the coast.
Plastic bottles, torn fishing nets... fingers.
It makes you wonder, where did they come from?
What boat now misses its net?
Whose fingers are these?
Why are they still moving?
Where are they trying to get to?

You follow them across the beach and into the shipping yard.
its like a maze here.
After many twists and turns the severed digits pile up outside
of one warehouse that looks more than ready to crumble.
You reach over the fingers, compelled to push the door.
It opens.

You wait for the fingers to writhe inside and follow after,
careful to make as little noise as possible though you
aren't sure why.
What could possibly be in here?

You see the fingers making their way to the back of the building,
to a large, greyish shape.
It seems to be a tarpaulin.
With something moving underneath.
Moving towards you.
Maybe it can smell you?

A large scaled hand quietly lifts the corner of the plastic sheet up.
It lets the fingers through.
It lifts the corner higher.
It beckons you in.