Bahram CH.
22/08/2023
"I won't come here again," were the exact words that echoed in my mind the moment I stepped into the wretched embrace of the "Pestilence Palace." The air itself was a nauseating blend of decay and desperation, as if the walls themselves were sighing in resignation.
Cockroaches, seemingly the only inhabitants truly at home, greeted me as if I were an uninvited guest in their realm. They skittered across the floors and walls with an audacity that left me questioning my own sanity for staying even a moment longer.
The carpets, worn and stained with the memories of countless regretful visitors, seemed to harbor secrets better left untold. The furniture, a collection of mismatched relics from decades past, added to the overall aura of discomfort.
Venturing into the bathroom was an exercise in suppressing a shudder. Grimy tiles and a shower curtain that looked as if it had faced countless battles and lost every one painted a picture of neglect that was impossible to ignore.
The staff, if you could even call them that, wore expressions of indifference that seemed to be their uniform. Requests for basic amenities were met with shrugged shoulders and vacant stares, solidifying the sense that I was a mere inconvenience in their world.
As I surveyed the scene of my unwitting torture, a sense of clarity washed over me. The "Pestilence Palace" had earned its name with a dedication I hadn't anticipated. With a vow never to return, I made my escape from this nightmare, forever haunted by the memory of an experience I could only label as a stay gone horribly wrong.