Written by Jacob Ibrag
‘So, what are we doing now?’ She taps on the
skeleton of her aviators as if to remind herself that they’re
still within existence. ‘Are you listening or am I talking to a ghost?’
Moving a few inches towards her ear, I caution that dead hear everything,
‘and they speak if you so happen to want to listen. Besides, what’s the rush?
I traded my breath for a piece of your attention and last I checked, you’re
still on the clock.’ Restless. She swears on her writing hand that
the deed is done, ‘he won’t be a problem. There’s no one
left to touch us.’ Us. Curious assumptions.