Rina Zante

Hours earlier…

The wall should be wondering if I was dead or alive. It'd looked away from my unflinching gaze only to turn back and still be met with it.

Psycho, it'd concluded. And right now, it cried. Its head was to the heavens as it prayed for a savior to come rescue it from my frightening eyes. If it'd had the power, it would have marched close and pressed the life I might have had left, away.

All this had gone through its mind in the course of seven hours. Ever since I’d woken up from a thirty-two minute nightmarish nap.

Poor wall. I understood its discomfort:...