BLINKERED

A simple heist. Get in, steal the device and get out. Once inside, I find it all out in the open, easy picking, I thought. The device has no security measures. Only a single warning sign that reads: “DO NOT PRESS THE RED BUTTON”

Blinkered, I press the red button.

The finger is still on the button, and I’m unable to move. I could see, out of my periphery, that the hands of my wristwatch have stopped. And that wrinkles and dark splotches have started to appear in my own hands. My vision has blurred, and my breathing becomes shallow. My teeth loosen and fall out onto my tongue, and my bones fracture beneath my aging skin.

I can hear sirens in the distance and I hope that they will find me soon.