Zed wipes her mouth. Wet rubber.
Looking down, squinting her eyes she sees black dancing across her fingers.
She smells them. Rubber scented.
Wiping her saliva stained cheek with her left hand, she feels relief from the itch that work her up.
Blinking a few times, Zed yawns and her eyes glimpse the black circular tube on the floor beside the couch.
‘That’s why my hand is black.’
Surveying the...
