The Faded Photograph
Your left hand is shaking, and the tremor travels up the wrist, a jagged current that makes the pen slip in your grip. You are holding the suspect’s gaze, trying to anchor yourself in the black of his eyes, but the face behind the glass is blurring, the features sliding like wet paint. The room is cold, the fluorescent lights buzzing with a frequency that seems to drill into the base of your...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima