Some days it gets all too much and she glides on auto pilot, she doesn't hear the sounds or feel a damn thing.
The mask slips as the sun goes down, left with her own thoughts. The picture plays out in her head, pauses as she screams.
Scrub her skin till it bleeds, but the stench of depravity clings on, its been so long, the film in her head it still plays, frayed at the edges and sepia toned, but it never stops playing.
