He sighed while he stirred his sweetened black coffee. Sweat dripped into his cup. He had toiled for over 30 years in this room. Now it was just a shell. Just like him.
Just like him. Or at least, how he used to be.
He picked up some strands and flicked them away. He was that strand. He was disposable. He was despondent. He had loved and lost here. He had grown his heart. But he must leave now. For that, there was no doubt.
He turned off the lights.
He went into the closet and looked up. It was time. He was beamed up to the ship.
They threw him onto the table and pulled out his heart. They were amazed. Indeed. He had grown a heart and with it they were now prepared to attack.
Categories: mental health, photography, Psychology, supernatural, weird, writing prompt