by Prior, Derek
The sheen of his eyes burned red, and in them, I saw my vacant stare reflected. For a moment, I panicked, but then my thoughts became vague, shadowy things that scampered away to the corners.
Wesley J. noted something in my expression and nodded. He clapped me on the shoulder, and I focused in on the drool dripping from his mustache.
And I understood. Not with thoughts, for I had none. But I knew what I had to do with the same blind certainty that drew a dog to dinner.
Thank you for reading
THE ATTIC
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