A sliver of pain and a splash of hot blood. Instinctively I screamed and the sound, which hadn’t blistered the air in decades, shattered every remaining bottle. Above us, the susurrus of traffic exploded into a cacophony of screeching tires, twisting metal, sheared fiberglass. Screams. Curses. The acrid smell of burning. My heart seemed to float up and outside of my body. The Rotting Man approached me, ghastly hands outstretched in apology or anger, I couldn’t tell. I was stretched between two worlds.
