When I was a kid I used to hate going to the basement of the apartment complex with my mum, not because it was dingy and smelled vaguely mouldy from all the washing machines that were always on the brink of catching fire. I hated the way the floor screamed and I hated the sound of hundreds of tiny souls clawing their way up for air.
It was only after we moved out to a small bungalow closer to the town library that I was able to do a little research and find that before the apartments were there, it was all fields. That was when I realised the scratching and screaming was only rabbits buried alive in their warrens to make way for shitty overpriced rooms.
Sometimes I wonder if every basement is like that, just full of the souls of screaming animals whose last moments were suffocation and fear. Who clawed each other to death for a few precious seconds above the ground before some digger or bulldozer forced them back down into agonising nothingness.
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