My Muse is taking a big nap. But here's what she spit out in her sleep.
Manic laughter slashed through the silence as the inmate grabbed the battered bars of the window.
“Isn’t anybody listening to me?!”
He’d grown tired of ranting and settled onto the wooden, splintery seat in the back of the wagon.
It was genius, really. He didn’t think Wells had it in him. But here he sat. Smallville 1866. On his way to an asylum.
How ironic.
He didn’t let his mind wander. There would be plenty of time for that at the crazy house.
Plenty of time scream.
But plenty of time to plot revenge. It was what he did best.
