Nocturnal

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

Rex Deprovdechuk sat in his living room. The TV played an infomercial. Something about speed-reading.

Roberta wasn’t moving. She was never going to move again.

Rex didn’t have to worry about her anymore.

Or Oscar Woody.

Or Jay Parlar.

Rex drew. He drew Alex Panos. He drew Issac Moses.

Rex didn’t know how it worked, but he didn’t have to. Oscar and Jay were dead. Issac and Alex would be next.

He’d skipped school again. He wasn’t ever going back.

Rex drew.