His voice began to fade into the whine of a sharp ringing, and a heralding storm of tinnitus filled Rose’s ears. Her eyes stood cold, and her hands became solid as the chill sank to her heart.

She gaped at the covered food before her with a wooden stare, like a castaway staring off into the open sea from a lone raft on the edge of oblivion. She doesn’t even see the water anymore, except an endless nothing.

She pressed the pen into his palm. It was warm. The warmth was wrong. The warmth was recent, mammalian, arterial. The warmth was a shared secret he did not want. It throbbed. No, it didn’t. Yes, it did.

He walked backward without turning, the way you leave a room with a sleeping tiger inside, and when he finally faced the field of cubicles again, everything wore a new face. The furniture grimaced. The ceiling exhaled. The carpet was a tongue.

He put the black pen on his desk and watched it like it might bloom teeth.

An amnesiac husband becomes increasingly worried about his wife's dark secret in their idyllic, isolated life. 

A man with amnesia finds himself under police scrutiny at the haunting crime scene of his wife's murder…

A seasoned detective assists a young superhero as he interrogates the criminal who aims to break his spirit before the superhero embarks on his career.

Ethan stared up at the statue, his eyes dry and burning. No tears would come. No amount of crying could ever be enough for the guilt that rang behind them. He could hear it all again, the screaming, the explosions, the accusations, the gunshot, layered beneath the distant cheers of the crowd like a second voice mocking him.

He bowed his head and begged for it to stop as the snow melted against his face, replacing tears he could not shed. For a moment, there was nothing else. Just the wind, the sea, and the unbearable weight of what he had done.