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Weekly Contest #292
I woke to a world that had forgotten itself. No colors. Not a scrap of red in the curtains I’d hated since I checked into this fleabag motel, not a hint of blue in the sky beyond the chipped window frame. The sunrise didn’t bleed anymore, just a smear of ash across the horizon, like God had stubbed out a cigarette and called it morning. My hands, splayed on the sheets, looked like they belonged to a corpse in a daguerreotype, gray, grainy, robbed of life. I rubbed my eyes, half-expecting blood to streak my knuckles, something to prove I wasn...
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