My mother always told me to stay out of Maple Woods. The things that you’ll discover there are certainly not good. My mother always told me this, and I understood: Trespassing there is dangerous.
Avoid the Maple Woods.
He awakes in bed.
He awakes in bed, confused.
But he shouldn’t be.
A deal, is a deal.
The bed is on the ceiling, and now, he is finally wide awake; staring at the floor through the locks of his long hair. They hang heavy, damp with something viscous dripping downward. Downward with the pull of gravity. He tosses his head around from where he dangles to rearrange the mop of sodden curls away from his eyes.
You were supposed to be a doctor. If you’re raised by two doctors, you’re also supposed to be a doctor because that is their plan. You would graduate high school and attend some prestigious medical school and they would pay for it and everyone would be happy. Well, you didn’t want that. You always wanted to write. Imagine their disappointment when you told them.
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