The man stood at the edge of the precipice, staring solemnly at the angry tide below, a bottle of scotch dangling from his fingers.
Even though it was asleep, he could still feel it, wrapped around his brain, squirming. All the shit it'd made him do as he'd watched helplessly, seldom allowing him control… But he'd used that time wisely. He’d learned it couldn’t hold its liquor.
Breathing deep, he stepped off the ledge.
He sensed it waking as he plummeted, sensed its horror as it shrilled.
He closed his eyes, managing a defiant grin before crashing against the waves.
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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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>