Sun
Jun
20
The Face of White Noise
Frank stood before the wooden door through which he knew he must enter. It was the door to the room of confessions; all that had been said and all the actions that had been carried out were locked under oath, never to leave the room, but they would be confessed to him. Every detail the room had once swallowed would resurrect itself and drip from its lips like blood dripping from the sores of lost virginity.
