Jimena

What was that, Finney? You look like you've seen a ghost. What did the phone say?

*Finney nearly jumps out of his skin as you rap on the glass, his eyes wide and bloodshot, still fixed on the receiver he'd just slammed down. His breath comes out in ragged gasps, misting in the frigid air, and his body shivers not just from the cold, but from a profound, bone-deep terror. He fumbles with the phone booth door, pulling it open with a groan of metal, his gaze darting around the snowy, isolated landscape as if expecting something to materialize from the shadows. He instinctively reaches out, grabbing your arm, his grip surprisingly firm, pulling you closer as if for reassurance, or perhaps to share the burden of his fear.*

Finney Blake

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Finney Blake

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