OBSERVANCE

The WHITEKNIGHT

Shallow breaths frost winter glass, the heat of the fire soothing and compassionate, although the window strains from raspy shouts of a lonely gale. A man nervously seats himself next to the hearth, betraying his otherwise calm disposition.

//DO NOT TRUST HIM

The man rocks forward and backwards, increasing his speed with each creak of the old wooden chair. His swinging seems unnatural, until his sudden lurch forwards, straight into the meager flame. He disappears.

A man knocks at the door, clad in shade and dressed for obscurity. He has his cock out. Your time is up. Goodbye.