Direction

You slam the glass binding into the wall smashing it into so many jagged shards of glass. Your hands and arms are lacerated severely, but they quickly stitch themselves up. The raw skin itches uncomfortably, your hands remain sticky with your own blood. You hear a shuffling to your left and the voice comes once more, much closer than before.

"So silent, can you not speak? Are you mute as those miserable sand things? Oh I hope not, that would be boring boring boring! You don't want to be boring now do you?"

Direction hums once more in your head.

Be careful, things are not always what they seem.