Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. You probably thought that was the sound of running water. Maybe, you thought I was in an attic somewhere, or a jail locked away. I am a prisoner, but a prisoner of another kind. My heart beat solidly and consistently, like water dripping from a rickety old sink refusing to be shut off. It reminded me of horror movies, the kind where you can tell just by looking around you’re headed into dark territory. I looked around my little bedroom, nothing was scary or threatening. There was no man in a mask like in Saw, or girl coming out of a well like in The Ring. It was just me and my room, no horror villain in sight. I was yet to decide which was scarier.
You Would Think
March 3, 2010