The room it left her in was always empty, free from windows and a door.
White walls, white floor.
It was chilling, yet it left no sensation on her skin because it wasn’t really a room, just a space inside herself where the demon trapped her each time it pushed her out.
***
Warm liquid splashed her. The brick dropped from her hand. It thumped onto something soft beneath her, not the ground.
She couldn’t look.
Blood dampened the air. It dripped from her fingers and caked her nails.
She thought of her quiet room and begged to be there again.
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alt="Timeliness by Stephen Sottong"
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width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="A Torso for Tomorrow by Randall Andrews"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="A Rip in Time by Andrew Kurtz"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Tomorrow by B.G. Smith"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>