November 16, 2010
He sauntered down the street, his face hidden in a book. In one hand he held a malodorous, rotten pickle, half eaten and crawling w/ little bugs. He was a bibliophile whose mind was crazed by the grotesque pictures imprinted in his brain. He had become a madman and everyone stayed away. Everyone but her. No one had ever seen his face and she wanted to be the first. Maybe they were only rumors that she heard about his face being deformed because of his books. She wanted to find out. As he walked past her, he bumped her, causing her to look up. When she did, it was as though 1000 clocks were chiming at the same time. She couldn’t see anything except his face stretched tightly over his skull. She could only hear a sound like rushing water. She was being drowned in his stare, but she couldn’t look away. Slowly, she faded and, as the world turned upside down and then black, she heard a slow, bone-chilling cackle. The last thing she remembered was the shiver crawling up her spine…

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