My Short Fiction

Roy

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The neon glow enveloped the city built by and for corporations. The streets looked soul-less, though crowded with bodies walking in black coats, past glaring lamp-posts.

Roy stepped out of the shadows. Then he froze.

All eyes were on him. The neon lights seemed to gather together to reflect his name. The voices from the bodies rose as one – a chant as deep as a bottomless pit and as empty as the yawning mouth of a deep hole —

“Welcome to hell, Roy.”

Note: First Line Friday prompt at Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

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