“Sit still!” she commanded, as I shifted in my chair, “you’ll only feel a pinch.”
Despite her supposedly reassuring words, her eyes gleamed, glassy with malicious anticipation.
Fright prickled the skin on the back of my neck, and I twisted away from the needle.
Maybe I could do try and do a runner.
There must be a road. My mind drifting back, as my body dropped like a sack of potatoes and my vision turned to dust, there must be a road.
Tina Stewart Brakebill 