Funny how things work out sometimes. I'm working crazy hours for thirteen days straight at a time. I don't have time to think let alone write. Yet, somehow, I'm carrying around a sheet of paper on which I'm compelled to throw some words. It's a very creepy horror story. I think it's my way of decompressing from the two jobs. It's about an object. It only appeals to people who are disturbed on some level. I don't know much about the people but, the object lies at the end of my bed and taunts me with the horrors it has experienced.
So, that's what's going on in my world. What's going on in yours?