The man in the glass.
What was he doing? Following me? Mocking me? Was he stupid? Was he drunk? I was afraid. I didn’t ask. I ran for the door.
The door was locked again. It was always locked. I glanced behind me. The man was still there in his tiny room, looking at me. He never stopped looking at me! I convulsed at his gaze.
“Who are you?” I quivered.
He had said something but I didn’t catch it.
I asked again, “Who are you?”
I must’ve been interrupting him because I saw his mouth move as I spoke, but I never heard what he said. That is, if he was saying anything decipherab