During the tour of the museum, unbeknownst to most, a boy slipped away to go to the washroom.
As he was doing his business, he could hear the sounds of his classmates growing further away.
He quickly hurried and left without washing his hands.
Suddenly, on stepping out of the washroom, he was hit with a sudden cold silence.
Figuring they must have moved to a different area, he dashed through the corner and came upon a hallway that he had not seen when coming here the first time
A long series of paintings filled the corridor in front of the boy.
As he walked through them, he kept his gaze fixed low as something felt off.
The boy had been walking for 10 minutes but was still in the same corridor.
He knew for a fact that there was no way the museum could possibly be so long and thus began to run, panic setting in his heart.
He ran
His gaze still lowered
His heart thumping
His mouth drying
Finally exhausted, his breath heaving, he could not take it any more.
He screamed for help.
Again and again.
But no one came.
Finally, his neck feeling sore, he looked up.
The paintings in front of him were the same ones as when he began walking.
He turned around to see if the paintings perhaps repeated themselves but was met with just the beginning of the corridor.
He…had not moved a single step after all this time.
He dashed back to the washroom and splashed some more water on his face and drank some to soothe his throat.
Now he returned to the corridor again, refreshed.
This time he stared at the paintings as he walked past them.
All the paintings seemed to be portraits of people from different ages and different lands.
He noticed all the paintings had bright vivid eyes that seemed to follow him.
Oddly enough, it did not bother him. The eyes made him less nervous, and in fact bolstered his steps.
He went on and on until suddenly he stopped in his tracks seeing a painting of his own mother. However, the painting had its eyes scratched out yet….the blood on the eyes seemed to glisten almost too vividly. He reached out to touch it.. And found his finger stained red.
The painting was still wet.
He backed away from the painting and then collapsed seeing all the paintings suddenly had their eyes scratched out with fresh paint.
He crawled forward, desperately begging and praying to whoever could hear him to let the corridor end. And so it did. With a dead end.
He stared in silence at this wall.
He got up slowly and braced himself to venture back to the washroom, through the corridor of the eyeless faces.
Finally, he made his way backward through the corridor.
However, this time every single painting was merely a blank white canvas.
He was alone
He was in silence
There was no one who could see him
There was no one who could hear him
There was no one who noticed he was gone
He was vulnerable
He missed the eyes
Did the boy noclip out of reality?