Galordeus

My life has become a mess. The room I sleep in is in ruins, every time buried into more and more trash and used things. Yet I refuse to get out of the room. It is dark outside ever since a drunkard, named Peter Trim came stumbling through the place, and smashed the light up there with the broom he used to sweep the floors of the rather large building we live in. Yes, it has only tree floors, but it is enough for me to not want anything to do with the darkness in the corridors and rooms. He was there, four months ago yelling at the top of his lungs he wasn't ready to be taken by God. He kept rambling about not wanting to be judged. Unfortunate