Literature
iNSOMNIA
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iNSOMNIA
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The sounds of business.
The faint hum of a security camera as it swiveled on its perch in the corner, fixing her with a bulging lens; her reflection engorged then dwindled, seeming to leap in it's black eye. The eternally wet look of anything so clean, every smooth surface glistening quietly, waiting for someone to run a finger down it and hear it catch and squeal like dirty rubber. The pert, orderly tap of her heels on the linoleum, glossy with puddles of liquid fluorescence.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Nobody wore heels in Haven unless they were wide, crushing heels made for force, tall, spindly heel