17 October 2012
He's there. I can sense it. Lurking in the distance with his trilby piled low. He wears a pitch black trench coat, your typical comic book spy but oh no what a mistake you have made to underestimate him. He is the follower. He walks silently unlike a dog on a polished floor.
One thing I ask is to why I'm being followed. This be because I'm condemned. I'm a broken man. For my follower is death. A death that I will meet just along the path...
The Follower • Opuss № I