I woke in a panic. It was pitch black. I couldn’t move my arms or legs and I was having trouble breathing. It felt like there was something shoved in my mouth. I struggled to remain calm. And failed. Miserably.
A sliver of light appeared as the door opened. I looked down and saw that I was tied to a chair. I looked up and saw a clown with a misshapen, grotesque grimace. I felt and smelt his stale breath on my face. ‘Are you ready to play?’ the maniacal inworth whispered. My heart thumped in my chest and I felt a warm wetness trickle down my leg.
For 100 consecutive days I will write and post a short story (about 100 words) incorporating a randomly selected word from Afterliff: A new dictionary of things there should be words for.
One who puts their face too close to you when they talk.
Festival wristband worn as a souvenir.