It's Written In Red

F

~

Staying away from human contact was becoming a chore.

Whenever he even stepped foot out the door- he often took the windows- it felt like he had eyes on him already.

It was like someone was watching him, hunting him down, and it's been like that for days now. But what came second after it was something different.

There was an itch in the back of his throat, an itch he couldn't scratch.

It had once been just a mere little tickle maybe a week or two ago, easily ignored then. Apparently it didn't seem to appreciate the lack of attention.

And that made him frustrated.

It meant that this... disease was only going to get worse, not better.

Not until he learned to be completely and forwardly honest in confrontation.

He hated this, every moment of it.

For once, he didn't look forward to the future. A future that probably wouldn't exist for him any time soon.