Wren P3: I know your truths.
ALERT BEFORE READING: THIS WRITING HAS NOT BEEN EDITED. JUST FREE WRITING WHEN INSPIRED. 
Click picture above to READ 
The stale air was tainted with the scent of decaying floors, while the peeling, dull yellow wallpaper resembled flesh pulled from bone. Wren hadn’t expected a five-star hotel, but she hoped it wouldn’t be as dilapidated as it appeared. As she stepped over broken glass and rotting wood, she knew deep down that she was in for nothing but desolate memories.
Navigating the dark hallways, she was surrounded by silence. She could feel the echoes of past lives in the abandoned rooms, their emotions lingering like ghosts—sorrow, jealousy, and blame. It reminded her of home, of an old blue house with a wraparound porch.
Pushing aside the memories, she ascended the creaking stairs, the weight of her katana on her back. Something told her she would need it today. On the third floor, a large hole blocked her path, revealing a room below, its furniture tossed about, its pictures broken.
Those who once lived here had left in a hurry, abandoning their possessions to live another day. Wren wrinkled her nose at the sour taste in the air and pressed on, her hair standing on end as she felt the thorns of the past clawing at her mind.
Reaching the fourth floor, she noticed another hole, this time in the roof, allowing the blazing sun to penetrate the gloom. Wren swallowed hard, reminding herself she was far from home. The discomfort of knowing the truth never faded, no matter how long she’d lived with it.
In room 103, she spotted a corpse in the kitchen, its clothes withered away. Part of her wanted to approach, to touch it, to understand the world it had lived in. How had things started well, only to end so cruelly? With a heavy sigh, she moved on.
As she walked, the voices in her mind grew louder—angry, scared, and violent. A vision of a little girl with blonde hair flashed before her eyes, filling her with sadness. Arriving at room 106, she found an apartment in turmoil, its past staining the walls.
Inside she could see four doors, two were open, and when was closed. Another had been smashed inward to reveal a laundry closet. She walked slowly down the hall, ignore the pictures of a happy family on a bar. And passed by the closed doors.
In the entertainment room, a pool table lay overturned, a once-red couch riddled with holes. Wren approached a small closet tucked behind a table, knowing it held the answers she sought.
Before she went to the closet, she spotted a box on the table and moved towards it. Inside she found children’s books and a small elephant toy. As she touched it, a memory seared into her mind—a blonde girl crying, clutching the toy tightly, while a voice whispered unspeakable words.
The air burned in Wren’s lungs as she moved past the pool table and towards the closet. She felt a presence nearby but ignored it. For now it was not a threat and she had more important things to deal with. When she push the table in front of the closet aside, she was almost scared to open it. With a sigh she turned the silver knob and faced the truth. Inside the closet, she found what she had expected—the lifeless body of the little girl, her yellow dress faded. A rope wrapped tightly around her tiny neck. Wren hesitated, then reached out, touching the girl’s tiny hand.
A burning sensation consumed her, as memories flooded in. She saw the little girl brushing her blonde hair in the kitchen, her excitement at turning the page of her book. Her mother walked around the living room chatting on a phone and barely noticing the little girl there. Then, the arrival of an older man, and the terror in the girl’s eyes. Wren felt her heart squeeze as she witnessed the tighten her fingers around her elephant.
The mother, with her long black hair and wrinkled face, looked at the older man and waved. The sickly smile that crept onto the man’s face told many stories of horror. Now in another room, a bedroom, the little girl sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the stars cut into the walls as if they were trying to escape.
Wren watched as the mother refused to take the little girl’s hand. The girl begged her to stay, pleading not to leave her alone with Grandpa. With all her might, the little girl confessed what her grandfather would do when her mother left. It was the look on the mother’s face that enraged Wren—the look of knowing betrayal, as if to say, “I already know what he does.” It made Wren want to throw up.
Then came the screams and curses. Blood oozed from a bite mark on the older man’s arm, and the little girl ran down the hallway crying. She tried to hide behind the pool table in the entertainment room, but Wren knew better than most, prey cannot hide from predators. Wren felt hands on her wrist, the end drawing near. Her head spun as she heard bones cracking—a rib shattered, a femur snapped, and finally, a throat strangled.
A rope was pulled tight around a neck, and a body swayed softly. Wren pulled away from the scene, fighting bile rising in her throat. As she took a deep breath, the world spun around her. The little girl’s death had been atrocious, and someone had to pay for it. Wren knew exactly who that someone was, for they had foolishly followed her here. The little girl would have her revenge, and Wren would ensure it.
Written by- Coushatta LaRue.
NOTE: STORY WRITTEN BY ME. IMAGE IS AI CREATED FROM PROMPTS WRITTEN BY ME. IN NIGHTCAFE.
