2022-06-10
615 words (3 minutes)
I stand on the shore of a great ocean—one that isn’t an ocean at all—and I start to feel the occasional wave’s surge reach me and tickle my toes. I can still turn around, make any other choice.
I don’t.
I stand in front of a witch house, and I do not belong here.
2022-04-11
340 words (2 minutes)
The door to the other observation chamber—the one kept off the record—opens for me with a welcoming chime as I scan my badge on the reader. Inside, my colleague waits for me.
She renews her struggles when she sees me enter, but the straps secure her firmly to the table.
2022-04-04
143 words (1 minute)
You scream and scream, trying to tell your friend to get far away from here, but no words, no hints of distress, escape the serene doll face you wear.
You reassure your friend how much happier you are to have sacrificed your will to the witch, and your friend believes you.