Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Humid

There's a chill trekking along my spine. Voices, a plethora of them, screaming, crying; not a single one sounding like the fear is coming from vision - the abhorrence emanates from their mind.

Willis walked those hallways with the care of a puppy in a garage. The same old places to sniff, eat, and piss, but at any moment, that door can open and the largest tank could come rolling through. Will it see him? Will it care?

The giraffe that used to be a poster for the National Fitness Test smiled, while worms fell from its mouth. The light coming from the ground, well, it just wasn't cool enough. Dashing water on himself didn't seem to help any. It only amplified the humidity that started out smaller than a snail sweat.

His watch beeped. It was loud. It chimed deep into his temporal lobe. It was time for the purple pills that crawled up his arm.

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