(From Chuck Palahniuk, a prompt about a closed space. There are three here, in this story)
Kyle pulled out of the driveway, blinking away tears.
Kyle didn’t see it, paranoia like rabid dogs loose in his head.
They’ll wait before doing anything which might get them caught, he tells himself.
In his mind, he imagined them with terrible clarity. How she would respond to him, the unknown lover.
Each time he left for work, part remained inside, a gargoyle. Guarding. Peering through the keyhole.
Red with feeling, like the light he missed.
The scream feels liberating as the car crumples like paper in God’s right hand.
MB Blissett 