Putty In Thy Hands
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Douglas says as he looks over the rim of his glasses at Steven.
“I-I, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
Douglas adjusts his glasses and smiles broadly. “And in those words your problem lies.”
“W-W-What? You’re making less sense than you did a moment ago. Speak clearly and then I may understand your plight!”
“Your plight is in a nosedive that you can no longer control, for with each false word you add, you exacerbate the problem tenfold, and the more depth you throw forward the reasons behind what you have done become trivial,” Douglas scoffs. “Release your inner fool and tell these dear people the truth, so we can all put this behind us.”
Steven casts a fevered glance across the crowd, staring into their empty expressionless eyes as a sea of sweat pours down his brow. “W-Will I e-end up like them?” he stammers as his gaze rests upon Douglas, who smiles wicked.
“Is that what you want?”
“I-I, I don’t want to die,” he says as tears cascade down his cheeks.
“Well that is an unfortunate thing to say, isn’t it.”