A stitch in time . . .
Grady finds himself lying on a narrow table in the lab while Vicodin and his assistants pull a black barrel-shaped casing over his head like a rigid hood. As it brushes the tip of his nose, it blots out all light from the window. Grady looks dead-on to face his interrogators. Deep shackles hold him tightly, cut into his skin.
He short-circuits. He smiles a twisted grin face blazing purple. He wears a loathsome cloak of fur that is still alive. It mewls like a cat being skinned without mercy for the life inside the animal. His sweater underneath, stitched in blood and skin, reveals the shards of the universal clock that he carefully safety-pinned to his own skin.
It was broke, and all was lost.
At the edges of darkness and beyond the infinite chaos of the past, all magical aspects to his being are suddenly and irrevocably lost.
1 human heart + 1 spiked brain, cross ‘n’ mix breed at a hair past 9:00—purple thumb time
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