10 min read
Interrogation
“I don’t even know where I’d begin,” I told the suited man sitting a cross from me, “and even if I did, it’d more than likely just end in me being put in an asylum.” His face never changed. Stone-cold eyes stared through me. He looked decently dressed at a glance—until you noticed the coffee stain on his tie and the tag still hanging from his shirt. “What about from the beginning?” he barked, never looking away. “What beginning? The one that’s about to happen or the one I saw?” Annoyance wavered on his face, we had been siting here for an hour now, the cold cuffs digging into my skin every time I shifted. There was no true way…