The Dorm Stairwell (Starting at the Fifth Floor and on Downwards), Sunday Morning.

[sogothcally.livejournal.com]

Poe had escaped from his plastic prison cell that managed to crush his soul even further into despair. It hadn't surprised him that his brown-haired torturer paid no heed to the fact he wasn't there when she went through her normally bleary-eyed morning routine of placing his food in his cage. Then he merely had to wait. Wait until she made her way out the door, so he could quick sneak out, still beyond her notice. He stalked her slowly down the hallway, hoping she would lead him to the great outdoors.

Instead, she led him to something much, much better. The staircase.

After the torturer had made her way down the steps, with much trepidation, Poe tentatively made his way to the edge of the first step. And did what was in his lemming instinct to do. He attempt to hurl himself to his doom. He landed with a comical oof on the next step, saddened he was still alive.

So he went to the edge of this step. And hurled himself again.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

[ooc: Open. Why yes, I am insane.]