PANICKING NOW, TASHA PUT HER HANDS TO HER THROAT and found no scratches. She felt Staff checking the bag of her water and tried to move away.
One gasped. "How did it get this way? Christ, it's like a block of wood! You're meant to be keeping an eye on it!"
Tasha picked up one comic, then another. Pieces of paper written on in black pen fell out like confetti.
GET ME OUT! begged one. DON'T! said another. STOP IT! a third one said.
She looked at the films, much the same as the comics; all standard teenage-boy fare, all full of gore and motorbikes and people, usually women much prettier than she was, all with huge, frightened eyes; men with deep gravelly voices as if it was painful for them to speak, protective and aggressive at the same time.
" 'When I leave '," she heard him growl, " 'it'll be like I never existed' ." He repeated his last three words.
Most items brought into the Warehouse were labelled in some way, to avoid the ensuing fights when things got lost, or when someone insisted an item was theirs, as they usually did. She squinted at the info, nearly dropping the memorabilia.
Her own address.
"
YOU ARE READING
UNSCATHED
HorrorWhen Tasha -- living in a residential care home she has never truly liked, younger and livelier than most who live there -- dreams of finding someone to share her interests, she finds that someone in Pique -- injured ex-member of Khronic Khonstipati...
