No Clue Where He Came From

  • Published by Literary Chaos, 2004
  • He had been sitting in the damp bare room for hours and didn’t show a single sign of boredom or exhaustion. His grand omnipresent body remained straight and alert, indifferent to the splintered wooden chair he was resting on; oblivious to the creases of flesh dripping from the seat’s sharp edges, edges which slashed through his meat and fat as a pair of butcher knives.

    The only other furniture in the dark stale room was a rectangular table, a steel table even edgier than the chair, and a yellow light bulb dangling from the encroaching molded ceiling.(…)

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