Let me tell you about torture. 

I'm talking about the kind where pins prick the wrinkles on your brain while you lie in bed. You toss and turn wondering if your head is going to bleed from the inside. You sprint down wooden halls avoiding splinters. Why are you running? You stop. You think someone is following you. You know something is there. The fear of the unknown makes you cringe. The fear on your face is exciting. 

The ground starts to concave. I can’t believe you sat there. You watched them run not knowing what chased them. You continue to watch in dread while those people scream for mercy. You knew something was chasing them because I was chasing you. If you wait, the ground will vomit up the bodies it swallowed. Just wait. 

Now you’re in an empty parking lot. 

The sky is clear. It feels like the beginning of spring, but how would you know? Your body is numb. Stop screaming. Only I can hear you. No one is here except you and I. My opaqueness absorbs screams. You try to speak and compromise, but the fear of not hearing yourself makes it more terrifying. I hear you. I will leave when you understand my purpose. Try to run to the nearest house‒if you can find one. 

Why are you looking at me as if your tears can save you? I am trying to help you with your aspirations, so I will continue this torture by splitting your chest with... 

You fall out of bed trying to find your pen and pad to write down your novel idea. 

You turn on the computer looking at the blank screen. The cursor mocks you. Then your wife comes in and says you’re running late for work.            

FRIDAY THE 13TH: PEN TO KNIFE, KNIFE TO PEN | WRITTEN BY ANDREW M. FOSTER | CO-FOUNDER BEAUTY & THE BEAST PUBLISHING

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