14 February 2020 - 15 Minute Fiction Friday
George had placed his pen down, carefully, allowing the ink to dry on his latest creation, when it moved. Just a flicker, or so he had thought, but he must have been going mad. It was late, he must have been imagining it. He glanced down, and felt sweat forming. He was unnerved, but in all truth, he had no idea why. He looked down carefully. It moved again. He jumped up, but found that he had lost control of his body. The drawing moved, and he too followed its movement. The drawing lifted a gun, slowly to its head.