Today, I heard the cat talking to Bertha in the kitchen. Not in English. Neither one was talking English.
I hope they weren't talking about me. I don't like it when I can't tell what people are saying about me.
Maybe there is an afterlife.
Bertha has requested Sundays off. She says she has too much to do. What, I can't imagine.
So, Ronald's daughter, who lives not far away, is going to come in on Sundays. She's a pretty thing. I remember. That should be fun! I'm looking forward to something, finally.
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...
