He takes the apple in his hands; you notice long, unkempt fingernails. His eyes meet yours and a small horror is ignited deep with in you.
You know those eyes. Everyone knows those eyes. There are poems about those eyes, songs, eulogies-- entire fucking epics written about those eyes.
You grew up with stories warning you about those eyes. But it was too late, you never were good at learning lessons anyway.
He smiled.
You drew your last breath.
You've reached an end!
If you were logged in you could rate this!
Home 
Browse 
About 
Help 
Register