Flash Fiction: Concentration
The figure splayed on the table woke to the low chanting of the robed silhouettes that surrounded them. The cry grew louder alongside a rhythmic slapping, and the figure knew at least one of the cultists would be sacrificed with them this night.
The voices peaked in their call, "This is the game of concentration: no repeats or hesitation. Category is- Category is!- CATEGORY IS!"
You have read your one article for the month.
Sign up for Prose. to read an extra article for free.
Sign up for Prose. to read an extra article for free.