December 30, 2015

“A man sat in a house all alone. He played with his hair for an hour, then lit a candle in his fist. He looked out a window that was always dirty no matter how he rubbed the glass with his fists. The man walked all through the house and sometimes he wept silently, and other times he turned the faucets on. The house was always dark no matter the season or time of day. It was gray in the morning, black at night, then gray again. The man scratched at himself. He felt that there were little things living within his skin that he could remove if he just scratched quickly enough.”

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