By Filipe
Today I saw the dead man again. I woke up to his frigid hand pressing me down. I laid there for a long time. We walked over to the ebony desk with a disconnected gaze to the space of the living. Outside the window, life flashed and moved, ignored. The grey figure blocked any interest in that useless energy. I collapsed into the chair, staring at the blank wall, looking for an answer. It was as eloquent as he was. Out of habit, I dragged us to the bathroom and peered at the mirror. The reflection was still the grey man.
A chilling look into the face of a dead man–himself! Liked it!
I really liked this. Who we are, how we feel, and who we think we are, and who we truly are . . . can be very different, or just the same. Nicely done.