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The Final Days of Herbert Tulliver

Copyright 2011 Elsha Hawk

Smashwords Edition

Voodoo doll photo by creepyhalloweenimages and fire photo by ben watts

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This story is purely fictional.





Herb woke to a stark white blurriness that slowly took on contrast as he blinked. He turned his head away from the window and its retina-searing light. He didn’t recognize this room, this bed, or the smell of this pillow. He closed his eyes and took a deeper breath.

Beeps and many footsteps, squeaky shoes, and the smack of swinging doors assaulted his ears. The strong smell of disinfectant and the mild tinge of soap, probably the detergent from the pillowcase, reached his nose.

The stiffness of the sheets and heaviness of the blanket began to make him feel trapped, a guest in a foreign land he did not choose to visit. He wanted up, out, to be free to move his body away from this too bright, too clean, too uneasy room. But suddenly he felt completely exhausted. Were they drugging him?!

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