The Man She Let Die
Watching Eden's expression collapse, I added casually, "My wife's already showing. You still haven't let go?"
Eden couldn't say a single word. Everything in her face faded into a dead, hollow gray.
On the final day of the exhibition, I stood onstage for my closing remarks, thanking every friend who had come.
The lights were bright. Below me were smiles and applause.
Yet I felt an icy, sticky gaze clinging to me, making my skin crawl.
Suddenly, a hoarse scream tore through the crowd.
A man in blue-and-white striped hospital scrubs burst forward. He held a clear plastic bucket sloshing with an unknown liquid and hurled it straight at me onstage.
Bab Populer