Thought.is

I went to the bar for a drink or two. I had no designs on the night ending up as it has, but as they say, life has a strange, almost fortuitous way of working itself out.

It moved in grotesque angles entering and exiting the thing that was now reaching for me.

A year of therapy didn’t change that. I was consumed with the question. What did he see?

Even with the .38 caliber killer claiming his sixth victim two days prior, our spirits were high.

“The man with horns. He doesn’t stand. He floats.”

This wasn’t your typical robbery gone wrong. A veritable monster had perpetrated this crime.

It was appearing to him nightly and telling him to do awful things in a high pitched voice that he described as “how a person sounds when they breathe a balloon.”

As I begin to move the body of the homeless man, I snap awake.

This conversation had taken a decidedly dark turn that I was in no way prepared for. A lump formed in my throat. Was this some sort of joke?