There's a blank look in his eye. His face is masklike. Whatever emotion contained inside, there's no way in hell he's going to let you or anyone else see it.
"Here."
He reaches into his white jacket and pulls out an old, worn orange paperback copy of a book. Different Seasons. Stephen King. He tosses it loosely at the bed, but it lands with an even thump.
"See for yourself. I'm done with it."
His hand reaches for the doorway, and when he pulls it open and steps out, it's into a land of glass and mirrors, of sunlight and shadow - far away from this place, closer to his true origins.
no subject
There's a blank look in his eye. His face is masklike. Whatever emotion contained inside, there's no way in hell he's going to let you or anyone else see it.
"Here."
He reaches into his white jacket and pulls out an old, worn orange paperback copy of a book. Different Seasons. Stephen King. He tosses it loosely at the bed, but it lands with an even thump.
"See for yourself. I'm done with it."
His hand reaches for the doorway, and when he pulls it open and steps out, it's into a land of glass and mirrors, of sunlight and shadow - far away from this place, closer to his true origins.
Bye bye, Todd-baby.