Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
The Drink By Kyra Pugh
A sip of the wine that had been sat on the crate in front of him. It burned down his throat as he stood, allowing the glass to smash on the concrete. The drink pooled at his feet, settling in the cracks. The quickly drying red liquid looked just like the thoughts he was drinking away. A scholar, the best in the city, almost ready to bring justice and law like he'd always wanted to. Laughter came from the opening to the grimy alleyway he crouched in. Three men from a night out, heading back home. Part of him said to watch them, protect them, make sure no one else would die tonight. Another part said, "Stop Charles." He flinched back from the gravelly voice, no one was there but he had definitely heard it. His ears hadn't deceived him. Rushing to his feet, he turned to check on the body behind his seat. The black lines wrapping around its arms and legs had gone. The piercing, red eyes were, in fact, a dull brown that were now fading with the colour of death. The shining white shirt was now a sickening red. "You did well." Once more, he turned to find the voice that wasn't there. The alley was empty other than him, the body and whatever rodents called this their home. Rats and mice and feral cats and beaten crows. How did he think that this thing at his feet was anything other than human? The drink. He never drunk normally, that must have been the reason behind his hallucinations, he concluded. "Now. Let's go again."
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