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Weekly Contest #249
It wasn’t a fantasy. He had nine minutes to be there. 2:06 PM, EST; it wasn’t real either, no way. He screwed up his eyes, converting his awakening heaviness to a sudden dread. Anxiety through his veins like refrigerant passing through darkening coils. It couldn’t be, he refused it. This was immediately followed by another array of instinctual thoughts; he couldn’t be that hungover, he couldn’t be. He sat up in bed. He was. The weighted nervousness oozed down from his head like wet sand through an hourglass. He was immediately sweating and s...
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