Sunday, 5 AM

I enter my room.
Someone’s already been there.
The walls have scratchmarks reaching high.
The carpet smells of peeled skin, as if someone rubbed their cheek on it after each fall.
I put a white cloth over it.
Then I hear the creature again.
Yelling from the part of my mind that’s always sleeping.
It’s time to wake up.
I cringe.
I’ve had this dream before.

Malicia Frost


About Malicia Frost

Your local Frankenstein.
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