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The Noctambulists — Nino Cipri
"Are you home?" a voice says.
You turn towards the TV. It's small, just like everything in the apartment. The screen is about 14 inches, square, and the rabbit ears have little caps made of tinfoil. The color balance has always been weird, and shows have a gaudy orange tint. On the screen, there's a woman sitting behind a desk. Her pale, pale face looks like a full moon, suspended in the darkness. Her eyes are almond-shaped and her face is round. Her dark hair parts in the center of her scalp and hangs straight down the sides of her cheeks. There's a black velvet curtain behind her, and her black clothes and hair melt into it a little.
"Are you home alone?" this creepy lady says from the TV. "You are, aren't you? It's just you, there. And just me, in here. Just the two of us. Alone together, here at the end of the night."
You turn towards the TV. It's small, just like everything in the apartment. The screen is about 14 inches, square, and the rabbit ears have little caps made of tinfoil. The color balance has always been weird, and shows have a gaudy orange tint. On the screen, there's a woman sitting behind a desk. Her pale, pale face looks like a full moon, suspended in the darkness. Her eyes are almond-shaped and her face is round. Her dark hair parts in the center of her scalp and hangs straight down the sides of her cheeks. There's a black velvet curtain behind her, and her black clothes and hair melt into it a little.
"Are you home alone?" this creepy lady says from the TV. "You are, aren't you? It's just you, there. And just me, in here. Just the two of us. Alone together, here at the end of the night."
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