A Corrupted Well

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


Suddenly her simply standing there watching me made her suspect. Why was this girl trying to help me? Sure it had been her dog that had woke me up but there had been no reason to stick around after her apology. She had made sure I was okay. By all accounts she should have been gone by now. Why was she here? What was her game? I wanted to grab her and shake what she knew out of her until—No! That wasn't me. I didn't know who 'me' was anymore but I was sure that I wasn't the kind of guy that hurt people . . .

A memory of me washing blood splatters off my hand floated up through my mind. I rejected it even as I watched my hands twist over themselves trying to get clean in cold water. Pink ran off my skin and down the drain in thick rivulets. No!

Her voice broke through the storm of my thoughts like a lighthouse's beacon, offering direction and sanity. “What happened to your neck?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean there's a mark, wait no, it's a thin ring around your entire neck. Like you were choked.”


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Inspired by (sequel to):

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