
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
Mark stood near the dairy aisle, with his knuckles gripping the handle of the grocery cart. He had been complaining about his stomach since we left the house, but I’d insisted we finish running our errand. Mostly because I liked the way he squirmed when I told him to just keep walking.
Everything seemed fine, but then…it happened. His posture stiffened, his face drained of color, and he turned a sickly, translucent grey. A damp, dark patch began to bloom across the seat of his light wash denim jeans and the smell hit the air around him instantly. “Fuckkkkkk,” he whispered, as he watched my nose wrinkle in front of him.








