Working in the basement all night had been a mistake.
A tic was already making my left eyelid jump and twitch.
I brought my hand to my face.
My skin felt greasy, like vinyl, alien to my own touch.
No radios were allowed in the basement,
no tape recorders, no pacifying human sounds.
Just the computer's hum, the buzz of the florescent lights.
My fingers ticked against the keyboard.
It was very quiet.
And had been for hours.
I had no clock, wore no watch,
had no way of knowing what time it was,
how close to morning.
Whispery sounds in the hallway.
forward anywhere lines