The dirty sound, the horrible screech. Adrenaline pumping through my veins. The metal scratches against the concrete floor, the bass sends tremors through the brain. There's murder in the sound, these blood stained beats. The music of demons, the product of man.
Somewhere behind the sound, a shadow lurks. Where it comes from is unknown. Sometimes I wonder if the creatures of the music placed it there, to see if it would ever be found. I have seen the shadow, I have heard its movements between the beats, it knows I have.
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