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Summary
"Why are you so attached to that thing anyway?" He says, speaking like a disappointed parent. "It's insufferable, immature and defective. You'd have a better time getting your organs ripped out."
The boy's hand shifts towards the handle of the gun, yanking it forward and forcing their proximity. Z stays silent, helpless as he stares into the other's eyes. They're empty, milky white with pitch black pupils poked into the center; an uncanny imitation of life.
"Come on. I'll show you what real fear is. If only you'd let me in…"
Z has a nightmare. Or at least he hopes he does.
