However, on the far right of the picture was the head and shoulders of a man I had never seen before. He stuck out in the picture of 16 and 17-year-olds like the most sore of thumbs. Dark eyes sunken into a skeletal face topped with a mop of dirty brown hair and dark stubble – the man looked away from the camera with a thousand-yard death stare.
The back of my throat began to bubble with vomit. I stared at the picture for a good minute or two until I was distracted by the garage light flicking on again through the cracks of the blinds.
I stumbled out of bed and staggered naked in the dark over to the corner window considering yelling something down at Percy this time. I had enough.
I whipped the blinds open and laid my eyes down upon Percy walking in circles in the driveway as a light snow fell and stuck to the asphalt all around him. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. A folded piece of cardboard. He quickly unfolded it. Pulled out a felt pen.
He turned towards me, intensely focused on the cardboard, he scribbled writing across the board.
My fear starting to bubble. I heard the sound of something crash outside my bedroom door, but my eyes stuck on Percy and his writing.