I build my home from stick and stones, So they may break but not my bones, Yet the wind still howls in my ears
Luke couldn’t help but stare at the blank expanse of skin where the woman’s eyes should have been. She didn’t seem to notice him, but none of the faceless people ever did. “He’s been out for three days now,” the faceless woman said, speaking into her phone. The sound resonated through the otherwise empty bus, despite the fact that the woman had no mouth. Luke didn’t think about it too much. The odd detail didn’t seem to stay in his mind for that long. “He should be fine,” she continued, reassuring the person on the other side of the call. “He’s in stable condition.” The woman lifted a tattooed arm to move her blond hair from her face. Chrysanthemums. Luke wasn’t sure where he recognized the flowers inked on the woman’s arm from, but as always, he couldn’t be bothered with it. The bus rumbled to stop, fluorescent lights flickering. Luke looked into the black of the night out the window. Guess this is my stop . As Luke walked pa...