A chair, a brown... Wooden Chair, Maybe once it was white. Possibly 20 years old.
30?
40?
Yeah, 40... This chair is rickety, squeaky. Handprints, all over. Fingernail scratches, indents. A nail sticking out. There are chains.
Shackling down the legs of the chair.
Blood.
Fresh and old.
Dripping down...
Watch as the unconsciousness fades...
YOU ARE READING
Semicolon; Project
Teen FictionI am an author, I write the story of my life. My name is Winnie, and I get to choose when this story ends...
