#SmallTales, Writing

Hood – (#SmallTales)

Burned faces. Scalps peeled a glowing red. Luminous trembling sores like egg yolks that bloomed over patchwork skin

The hood could tell if you were lying. So they claimed. How could an inanimate object know the truth? This was the sort of absurdity we no longer questioned. 

They only used the hood on people they thought could tell them something. Mostly, people only told them to stop. Told. Begged. Screamed.

They put it over my head and fastened the straps.

Where is she, they asked, and I could smell the steam rising from my skin before I felt the pain. 


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