Bertha has been soaking the cat in Epsom salts to draw the puss out the wound, which is shrinking.
This seems to be a good metaphor for what she is doing to me, but not in a good way. She is drawing me out as I shrivel. I find this example quite compelling. I want to remember this one.
What for, I don't know.
I had thought at one time, years ago, that many people would read my journals about my adventures. I had imagined my casinos would be a destination for people who wanted to learn more about my life. All the things I thought were leading me to greatness came to nothing. But somehow Bertha understands.
I don't even have to tell her.
YOU ARE READING
God =100,00O Dollars
HorrorIn this Weird Fiction short story, Frank Hopson records his days in an audio journal, losing track of dates and struggling to decipher what's real and what's a hallucination due to the human brain's common psychedelic reaction to blindness -- it's c...
