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Weekly Contest #241
We sat, each to a chair, fighting against our own hands, our backs, our bodies as they cowered under the Inspector. Were we tied? Or were the black almond eyes of the Inspector seemingly wanting to lunge down our throats and take from us everything, anything, keeping us there, leaning back past each of our own undulate spines? I see them all, looking at me, looking at her, begging me not to look at her. Because if I did, would she be able to pull my soul out of my body and brandish it before us all, and with that cadaver of all I’m made of h...
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