by Ezekiel Kincaid
I slipped on the suit. The sleeves and pants still felt damp. Next time I’ll have to let it dry for another hour, at least.
I walked into the bathroom to check on Jim. He still lay in the bathtub moaning, with his skin removed and muscles glimmering in the flickering light. He slapped the side of the tub, leaving a bloody hand print.
“Stop your complaining. Looks better on me than it did on you.” I looked in the mirror and adjusted my new suit.
I was never comfortable in my own skin, that’s why I wore other people’s.
Ezekiel Kincaid resides in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, with his wife, four children, and two dogs. The only other language he is fluent in is sarcasm. For fun, Zeke enjoys watching people get in socially awkward circumstances. He hates cat videos but loves watching wrestling promos from the 80’s. You can keep up to date with him on his website – ezekielkincaid.wordpress.com