Meeting Mr. Cuddles

“Great job, as always, Rosamunde.” remarks my boss, a man in mid-forties with a thick, well-combed moustache, almost reminding you of a certain Nazi dictator. My day job is as a photojournalist at the company that he owns, something that aligns with my hobby which is photography. I also am a part-time freelance photographer for events such as weddings, birthday parties, and such, which I may say I am more delighted to do than my day job, albeit way lower when it comes to salary. For some time now, I have been pondering about quitting my job. No, I do not hate it, nor do I have workmates with whom I do not get along with. Not at all.  The workplace may be small but it is perfectly comfortable and conducive enough for most to consider working for this company as a lifetime job. Not to brag, but I also am being paid very well despite spending a lot less time as a regular employee than my workmates because of, as they say, my “innate talent in photog

I was hardly able to get sleep last night because of what Luke blurted over the phone. Two things are likely the reason for that call of his, and both are horrendous as per my standards. First, and the one I am very much worried about, is that he actually revived Mary. While it may sound like it came straight from some science fiction novel, with Luke, you can never really tell. Once he sets his mind on something, he never stops until he gets results. Over the past six months, he has been busy with a machine of sorts, barely eating or taking a bath, let alone stepping outside his house. And that last thing he said the last time I visited, it ran circles all over my mind overnight, preventing it from shutting down and giving me so much anxiety. The second is that he has completely gone insane. Nothing worrisome with that. Oh, God. Please tell me it is not the first one. The rising sun was starting to paint the skies of a gentle, yet ominous orange hue