Josh put down his beer, distantly aware that it was somehow to blame for the conversation he was having.
“It comes to all of us,” he thought, “at one time or another.” He then put a cigarette in his mouth, and turned to start walking.
Ingmar had no idea what to do the day the world locked down.
But then the light came in, a golden hand reaching down to lift him from his prison and bring him back to life.
The barmaid was a tired-looking girl, probably in her mid-20s after a shower, but in that moment she could have been anything from 19 to 47.
His muscles all tensed and he opened his mouth to scream, but the rushing air caught the sound in his throat and he stifled.
Marcus wrote the words hoping that getting them out of his head and onto paper would somehow make the nightmare go away, but like the bite of hard liquor or the smell of rotten meat, that kind of isolation lingered.
June 16th 1984: At 07:23 AM Fredrick William Jones, age 37, gets out of bed and walks through his house
The last talentless man floating in the sea of the extraordinary.
A moment of fear that caused a wealth of pain.