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I sigh and walk over to the sink next to the coffee machine to wash my hands. I grab some paper towels and dry my hands. I groan and walk towards my handbag underneath the counter to pick it up. I need to get home, go to bed, and try to sleep this off.
“I’ll hopefully see you Wednesday, Alana. I will text you if it’s any different!” I call out just before I open the door.
“Sure! Get well soon, Callie!” she yells back before taking the next customer’s order.
I open the door with a groan, step through, and close it. I pull my phone out of my pocket and place it in my handbag before continuing down the street. I turn the corner and slam into what feels like a brick wall.
I lose my balance, falling backwards onto my elbows.
“Ow! Watch where you’re going!” I say, rubbing my elbow and frowning.
My eyes travel the length of who I run into, from his black dingy shoes to his grey trousers. I can see a white cast peeking out the bottom of the sleeve of his black coat with multiple tears through it. Underneath the coat are a pair of black suspenders, a white shirt covered in mud, and what looks to be dried blood. He looks like hell.
Familiar-looking tattoos peek out the top of his white dress shirt as I follow them up his neck to his face. His cheeks are sunken in, and a black ring forms around the one eye I can see. His dingy blue and black hair covers the rest of his face, and he looks like he hasn’t showered in a week.
Our gazes meet suddenly. I’m pinned in place by a mesmerising, familiar eye that I’ve only seen in my dreams.
He tilts his head to the side. “Calliope?” the man whispers.
The End. Or Is It?
