>>11965914I found myself strapped to a giant rusty tile, covered in blood, being carried along by twelve people in purple and orange robes with the same gash on each of their faces.
They were chanting – “Glass, metal, ceramic, stone”. Why were they chanting this? Was this my final hour? I remembered the showerhead, the rusty machete, the bottles, it all came together.
I was placed upon an altar, vertically, facing the twelve men in a semi-circle. In front of them was a pentagram made out of the bottles from the cleaning closet. The men chanted in an archaic tone, summoning a hooded 13th member, wielding a bottle and a rusty machete. He brought the rusty knife to my throat, and with what I though was my last breath, I shouted:
“WHO ARE YOU?!”
He pulled down his hood, revealing the first normal face I had seen in days, and took off his gown, revealing a light blue shirt, perfectly clean and pure. His face had the clearest blue eyes, and hair so smooth it could be used as a cloth. The man looked up at me and said:
“HI, I’M BARRY SCOTT”