The marbles clinked between my fingers, tapping glass sounding out in the silence. I rolled them around and around, never dropping them, as I sat in the too-bright hallway. My spine was straight, my head held tall, and my feet flat on the floor. The only movement in the whole place was my hands and the awful marbles.
“Sir?”
I didn’t turn my head; I clenched my fist, crunching the marbles together loudly. The timid man flinched in the corner of my eye.
“Ah, he’s - he’s ready for you, sir.”
I glance at him, then, fingers tightening. “Very well.”
He quickly bowed, then scurried off in the opposite direction. I looked down at my hands, the marbles within them.
Instead of round glass, sandy dust crumbled out from between my fingers, onto the floor between my feet. I brushed off my hands as I stood, leaving a small pile where I sat, and began on my way.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Twisted Dreams
PoesíaA collection of short stories, poems, and half-written ramblings. ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 dream \ ˈdrēm \ 1 : a series of thoughts, visions, or feelings that happen during sleep ~•°•°-----------------------------------《☆》 night·m...
