--
Tic.
.
.
.
Tic.
Tic.
His brown eyes snap open.
Rich matte tone, he rustled within his cramped bed, seeking comfort.
Justin couldn't sleep till dawn.
'Efe is dead.'
A playful marathon.
Mayhem — where the words of that loose man, shoved ruthlessly into the asylum, kept echoing in his head. The man had screamed, "You'll see! You'll feel it too!" as they dragged him away...
And Justin did.
His wails... the fear he left behind.
Justin reached for his phone. Glaring at sent texts.
Tried calling.
No replies.
Not a single ping.
He felt dumb. Typical. Stupid. A vest of useless emotions.
His sister was probably somewhere living her best life, while he sat here — a cramp in the world, wasting his.
He looked at himself.
Hairy. Ugly. Tacky.
And just a little… off. Like a mistletoe.
"Unwanted," he muttered. Cast by what they craved from him.
What she told them about him.
A song played in the background — something soft, old, by Lucky Dube.
