Experiment In Terror 09 Dust To Dust - Plot & Excerpts
Free falling, kind of like Tom Petty, if Tom Petty was signing about falling into the fiery pits of Hell. Maybe he was, I don’t know. All I saw was the black, all I could grab was handfuls of nothing. All I felt was evil, waiting to sink its teeth into me, a present at the very bottom. Soon it would have me and I, I would be empty. The sound of the television brought me out of the blackness. I groaned and tried to roll over, away from the sound of morning television, my head throbbing with sharp shards of pain. This could have been Hell for all I knew. I expected to be roused from my half-conscious state, for a familiar voice to chide me for sleeping in so late and not getting up. What I got wasn’t words, but had that floaty, airy quality of a singular thought, plucked from elsewhere. I’m afraid of him. I opened my eyes to see the hazy morning sun of Manhattan filter in through the window, blinding me.
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