You awoke, cold, weighted, and with a sharp pain in your right temple.
Your eyes survey the new environment you were slave to.
A single fluorescent bulb dangled by a cord in the center of the concrete, empty room. The black door on the other side of the room was only slightly ajar, a old knocker depicting a long pendulum hanging lifelessly. But the extraordinary thing about this room wasn’t the walls, but what was written on the walls. Graffiti lined every inch of the solid grey walls, overlapping into one massive brain storm. Almost like one person couldn’t think of that one word so they just wrote until the word came to them. These messages were unique though. Each had it’s own distinct handwriting and vernacular, its own story to tell.  Only one thing remained constant throughout the jumbled mess of unfinished thoughts and misspelled words. They were all red. Crimson even. Your eyesight focused enough to be able to read them.
“Help”
“Where am I”
“How are you still alive?
“Legs are broken please save me”
“Catch who did this”
You senses were on overload from the fresh information being processed. But the biggest, darkest, uneven message read,
“I’m surprised they haven’t started playing yet”
Before you start to psych yourself out, you try to remember what happened before you awoke--
The pain in your temple intensified by millions of degrees, ripping a scream from your throat and the next thing you know you are back on the floor, the pain finally subsiding.
What were you thinking about again?
No clue.
A creak came from the doorway.
You turn around only to find…
Yourself.
An exact replica. But where your eyes should’ve been, there were gaping voids, seeping of blood, and your nails were long, at least 2 feet, and sharpened to the point of an axe. It just stood there. Another creak came from the door.
Another you to your left, back to the wall.
All you can think is to get out of this nightmare.
You book it for the door, but you are surprised when all the replicas do is stand there and follow with their heads. Not their entire bodies, but their heads. an owl turning its neck to see you.
You run through the door only to find--
The sharpness in your temple is killing you, a brutal, merciless wave filling your body with excruciating pain.
All you can make out is a mirror in front of you. But the pain is so bad, you’re seeing double of yourself.
No wait, you’re seeing is fine. All you see is you, and a replica wrapped around your neck, digging it’s nail into your temple. It now knows you know it is on you. You try to kick, bite, or throw it off you, but they have had their fun. Time to wrap this one up and go get another. The nail goes deeper and deeper until you finally give into the peace overwhelming you.
The last thing you remember is the two voids hanging over you, drops of blood stinging your face, the same shade of crimson lining the walls around you, and a smile slowly growing on the distorted yet oddly joyous face looming over you.