Again I looked into the mirror. I had been mad. I must have been mad. There was no wolf in the mirror, lolling his tongue in his maw. It was I. My face was grey, forsaken of all fancies, wearied by all vice, horribly pale. Still it was a human being, someone one could speak to. “Patrick,” I said, “what are you doing there?” “Nothing,” said he in the mirror, “I am only waiting. I am waiting for death.” “Where is death then” “Coming,” said the other.
Posted on: Mon, 29 Jul 2013 19:23:36 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015