His Needle Made Them Sleeping Beauties
Language: en
I was just trying to watch a movie. That was it. But the kid behind me wouldn’t quit. He kept kicking the back of my seat, a rhythmic, dull thud that was slowly driving a wedge into my sanity. Then came the smell—stale cheese and sweat—as he propped his bare foot right next to my ear. I snapped. I turned around, my voice tight. "Hey, keep your feet down and sit still." He didn't listen. Instead, he grinned, a feral little look in his eyes, and jammed a needle into the side of my neck. It wasn't a poke. It was a stab.