The lights in the all white room shone down on Travie's face illuminating his mask of fear and horror. The lights were so bright in here, he thought as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand with his sleeve. It was brighter than a surgeon's room. Like waking up silently in the middle of an operation and not being able to move or speak. Sitting there silently waiting for the surgeon to make the next slice and pray to every god you'd ever heard of for it to be the last slice. Feeling the warm blood run down your chest while the surgeon's cold, gloved hands were inserted into the punture hole.
Subject: I Don't Quite Have a Title Yet 
Thu Jan 27, 2011 4:04 pm
