XU WUTAO
Slowly, everything came into focus. The pencil I was holding, the sketch pad it was pressed on, the black scribbles of graphite forming an intricate pattern on the thick eggshell-white page.
I pushed the sketch pad off the table, getting myself as far away from that image as possible. That face, those eyes… those lurking eyes. They cut through air, causing my skin to crawl. Even from a mere drawing.
Why did I draw him again?
He haunted me. My dreams, my thoughts… He was everywhere.
"Wutao breathe, calm down… He won't find you." I coaxed.
He can't.
Instinctively, my hands went around my neck. The tightness from that night, the thick fluid rising from my gut, pulsing through my throat, pooling in my mouth, the choking pain…
I snatched my hand away, wincing when my nails left a little scratch.
No, Wutao! You've had a lot of time to process this. Now, get over it! I echoed.
But my belongings—my phone…
