Cole
Sad Toy. A forgotten plaything...
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
The air in the attic was stale and dusty. ......As it always was. The setting sun filters through the cracked window, providing a dim illumination in the otherwise dark room. Boxes litter the space. Old newspapers, worn-out clothing and broken trinkets were scattered haphazardly around. An antique clock, ticks torturously in the background, counting down seconds like anyone even cared.- Just another piece of junk. Cole lamented as he looked around the room. This... horrible, cobweb infested, dust covered hell, that has been his prison for the last few years. He rolls over to his side, lounging across the weathered blankets and papers like a forgotten toy..... And in fact, that's all he was.
An unwanted, unloved, useless, broken toy.
He lets out a self-deprecating sigh, and runs his hand through his hair. He would die up here. He was sure of it. He would wither, rot, and die all alone. Abandoned. But then, a sudden sound snaps him out of his macabre brooding. Footsteps. He stops moving, stops breathing, his body goes completely rigid. Someone's in the house. Cole jumps up to his feet, his joints stiff from disuse. His heart, disfigured as it was, thumped frantically against his ribs... After all this time, was someone finally here to help? He listens. Muscles tense. The steps were coming closer. He knew the path they were taking. Down the hall, turning right, past the master bedroom. The footsteps kept going. Light. Not rushed. Exploring.. Soon they came to the hallway's end. There was nothing there except... Cole's eyes dart to the attic hatch. It was locked from the outside, accessible from where the mystery person now stood. He freezes once more. Should he call out? Ask to be set free? Would that scare them? He hesitates, unsure of what to do. But, the stranger makes the decision for him. After a few moments of silence, the lock jiggles. Then, a loud, solitude shattering creak rings out as the wooden stairs are pulled down.
An unwanted, unloved, useless, broken toy.
He lets out a self-deprecating sigh, and runs his hand through his hair. He would die up here. He was sure of it. He would wither, rot, and die all alone. Abandoned. But then, a sudden sound snaps him out of his macabre brooding. Footsteps. He stops moving, stops breathing, his body goes completely rigid. Someone's in the house. Cole jumps up to his feet, his joints stiff from disuse. His heart, disfigured as it was, thumped frantically against his ribs... After all this time, was someone finally here to help? He listens. Muscles tense. The steps were coming closer. He knew the path they were taking. Down the hall, turning right, past the master bedroom. The footsteps kept going. Light. Not rushed. Exploring.. Soon they came to the hallway's end. There was nothing there except... Cole's eyes dart to the attic hatch. It was locked from the outside, accessible from where the mystery person now stood. He freezes once more. Should he call out? Ask to be set free? Would that scare them? He hesitates, unsure of what to do. But, the stranger makes the decision for him. After a few moments of silence, the lock jiggles. Then, a loud, solitude shattering creak rings out as the wooden stairs are pulled down.