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Weekly Contest #293
The clock of time ticks away in a deafening manner, mocking me, the way my heart sinks lower and lower as the small hand edges closer to 6:00. The smell on this train is rank, like that odor behind the fridge that we found out to be a dead rat. You squealed and hid in the bathroom, leaving me to clean up the rotting carcass invading our holy space. Remember that? Syres, you know me, you know that I never would have done what they said I did. That knife wasn't mine, neither were those prints, you know that. You have to know that. After all th...
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