Fragments of the spit-drenched postcard dissolved on his lips, leaving behind a tang of bile. Yet somehow the glossy photo remained; the view of his room, snapped from behind his eyes.
Snickering, the demon flipped the card over, catching the scribble on the other side. Red words, likely written in blood, scratched desperately from his own arteries.
Free me. PLEASE.
With looped letters and black ink, he crafted his reply. Then he placed the card in his mouth and with an elegant finger forced it past his teeth, then swallowed the sopping paper back down.
It’s my body now.
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="See you Soon by S.M. Sykes"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Lost in Transit by Nissa Harlow"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Postmarked Tomorrow by Rod A. White"
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>