50: Sight
It was harder to see than it was to touch. But I could see the shadowy figure of his face. I could see the outline of his shoe laces springing out of his combat boots. And I could see the fuzzy microscopic pieces of thread on his pants.
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Stockholm Syndrome
General FictionI didn't want to. I wouldn't. I won't. But suddenly I was doing it. I didn't even register my feet hitting the fourteen steps it took to get up the stairs. My brain ignored the ninth step and how creaky and loud it was. And then I was there. Finding...
