Twenty-seven | 42 days, 20th hour
A crowd of people continued walking down the road, but I stood in place, looking around. They were chattering, talking to one another, but as I neared them I couldn’t really grasp a word of what they were saying at all. When I tried to move to another road or tried to enter another building however, it’s as if my steps won’t let me and I’m just back in the same spot: right beside the cloaked man who’s sitting on a chair, sipping some warm drink. It’s like there’s a barrier around the area that I can’t escape. Try as I must, but I know it’s futile. There’s a newspaper stand on the other side, and the thought randomly pops into my mind. I run for it, doing a little jog, then catch the stand and try peering down. The wounds are all a blur, except for one newspaper and I leaned forward to
- Writer
