Not My One
Of all the lies I've heard. "I love you" was my favourite.
Pacing. I’m pacing. There is an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel it frequently, it is a tenant of my body, it doesn’t pay rent, it claimed squatters' rights some time ago. The corridor is narrow and dim. It feels like a claustrophobic tunnel with the entry and exit blocked. The overhead lights flicker, they emit a soft hum and crackle, it’s barely audible but echos in the chasm. It’s quiet, so quiet, but st...