In His Own Image: Interlude 4
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February 19, 2009:


Wishing he didn't remember

"He. He. He. He. Hee."

Lament sat up in his bed in a cold sweat, the laugh still echoing in his ears. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, forcing the sound out of his head, then swinging his legs over the side and walking toward the shower.

He stepped into it, letting the cold water course over his back, feeling it slowly begin to warm as the echoing nightmare finally, slowly stopped…

He opened his eyes and stared at the wall. For a moment, he was almost certain that the porcelain of the shower wall was giving way, handprints emerging from it like a child's hand playing with their blankets. Mocking hands that would reach for his throat and squeeze the life out of him, but he wouldn't die. No. He'd live while the owners of those hands played. Played and laughed. "He. He. He. He. Hee."

As he briefly considered reaching for his sidearm on the sink, the effect faded. For a moment, he still considered reaching for it, for another purpose, and when he realized it, he slumped down the wall of the tub, sitting under the water until it had long run cold, staring weakly at the drain.

Wishing he didn't remember, but glad that he did.

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