The smell of death l lingered like a salesman that wouldn’t take no for an answer. The is something about the rotting of flesh that reminds on how mortal a being with a heartbeat is.
The rain poured off and on between bursts of sunlight. It was late afternoon, but I was still in my pajamas. The madness had been dancing through my mind all week, and I feared it. I feared it would persist and drive me to a state where they’d put me in a padded room, complete with a well fitted yet oddly fashioned jacket.
Excerpt from the flash fiction The Reality of Perception from my book: Shattered
SB LACROIX 
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