My heart pumped with fear.
The tall, flamboyantly dressed figure standing in front of me had to be a hallucination, part of the schizophrenic past I thought all the pills had overcome. Behind the figure, Professor Jones droned on about 17th century European history. The class, listening in their typical bored way, showed no sign of anything out of the ordinary.
“It’s not real,” I repeated over and over to myself.
The figure just laughed and pulled a knife from its fur coat.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jackson. I AM for real,” it said, and slashed the blade across my face.
No comments:
Post a Comment