An empty room, devoid of sound, set the scene for dying out.
Turning, turning, his arms were burning, disintegrating, fading, gone.
He tried to shout, but not a hint of mercy camde from his throat, which
tried and dried and couldn't croak. The room revolved, his vision
blurred, returned and stopped. On his knees he lost his balance, with no
limbs to restore it. Floor met face and broken teeth and blood spilt
maniacally through impossible manifestation. In the center lay a pile
of clothes that held a tortured soul 'til someone decided it was his
time to go. He fought with will, and took his torso, dragged it several
feet-- lost the final struggle. He'd walked by accident into the maze of
mystery that's thought to be only myth, known as "The Vanishing Point."