thatsnotmyname
She watches the muscles in his arm flex and his eyes twitch on the operating table.
Her heart beats and she tells herself to relax, and stop shaking.
"Scapel," says the blue clad doctor beside her. She doesn't respond.
"Scapel," he demands again, impatient and slanting a look at her. She knows that she's supposed to do something with her arm, pass him the tool, but her hand's shaking so hard, and there's so much bloodbloodblood.
Silently, she storms out of the room, even as the echoing shouts erupt behind her.
She didn't sign up for this shit.
The stillness of the water scared him. Not a single ripple, but a clear sheen surface. He bent over, scrutinizing his appearance with hard eyes. He looked different, good.
Take a deep breath, block out all other thoughts.
WIth that in mind, he stood up, gun tucked in his pocket, and walked towards the bank across the street.
You stand at the opening, unsure of the beginning and the end, only that you want outoutout. One of these two entries will lead you out, they whisper in your head. You wonder whether you should go right or left. You close your eyes, spin around, and stop. Just keep walking forward you think and you do.
You open your eyes and find yourself at the same exact spot, grass flattened under your feet, and footsteps trailing behind you. You've gone backwards.