“Please,” James said, hitting the cloth above his face again. “It’s too dark.”
The cloth unzipped down the middle, revealing a woman’s curious face. She pressed her slipping glasses back up her nose. The man breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. Where am I? What happened?”
“This one’s still alive,” she said casually.
“Not according to our list,” said a man’s voice. “Dusty Jackson, deceased. To be cremated.”
James remembered his dealer asking for a favour. James panicked. “No, there’s been a mistake! I’m not Dusty!”
“You will be soon,” said the woman as she zipped the bag shut.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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>