Onsheka

What frightens me most is when something is off. The surreal realisation that something isn't quite right. The subtle, creeping thought. A chair in the wrong place. Plates in the wrong cupboard. My face in the mirror changed slightly. Not even noticing at first. A shadow that is too long or too short. Finding friends behaving oddly. Not knowing why. A person with eyes that are too far apart. The man without arms. The woman with no legs. The veteren with his skull caved in. Wrong. Incorrect. Abberant. The curtain moving without a breeze, the stain you remember washing out. The conversations that never happend. The glimpse of 'this-is-not-rig

  The rugged man held aloft the scroll, glancing at the girls bleeding on the ground he sneered. "Kiddies oughtn't be here, too tough fer weaklings. Run on home an' don't be comin' back." Limping away dark blood dripped from his shaved scalp, his taut skeletal leg. "Wait, I need that scroll." He stopped. "Look healer, I worked five years ta git this far. Ya think askin' nice'll help you?" "I need it." Panted the healer,"I need it to get the scholarship, I need to send money back to my family, they'll starve, please, give it back." "I don't give a shit." He turned again. The girl staggered up, pain stabbing between her ribs like an icy dag