Killer Trip

The phone rings unheeded, while across the room Diern lolls his head, eyes closed, tripping out to Miles Davis radiating from a pair of speakers. A stranger creeps in silently through the open balcony. He stares at Diern for several minutes. The stranger’s face contorts slightly, almost as though groping for the memory of facial expressions, filled with a strange psychopathic fondness for his prey. Diern’s body writhes in tandem with the hesitant tremors of the stranger’s face, the former seeming to be a magnified, more complete expression of the latter. Continue reading Killer Trip

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