God...no...not again. Please don’t do this to me.
Whenever people found out about what he could do, what he could feel, the reaction was always the same. Their pulses raced with excitement, beady little eyes glistening with tears born from the effort of holding back a million questions.
“Can you hear ant crawling? A phone call in another room?”
“What did I have for breakfast?”
Parlor tricks. Cheap bullshit. See, that was the problem with people. They didn’t put any thought into these childish thoughts of whimsy. Of the negatives that came with these preternatural magic tricks of his.
Like the way that he could couldn’t even take a deep breath without spewing his guts all over the stone floor of the “interrogation room”, the scent of his own blood sour and overpowering.
His face was swollen and battered beyond recognition, gore further blurring once handsome features. Torn lips struggled to form pleading words, but only managed to trail thick strings of red goo that oozed freely between his knees.
“Let ‘emgo,” he mumbled feverishly, voice breaking as he watched them start in on the other,”
For the love of God, let them go.
