Floaters
by C. I. Kemp
Robert Brewster had it all: an apartment in the West Village, a loving girlfriend, a flourishing career.
Then he started seeing them - those little dots that dance before your eyes. Floaters.
At first, he thought they were harmless.
He was wrong.
Whatever they touch suffers an agonizing death.
They strike without warning.
There is no defense.
There is no escape.
Then he started seeing them - those little dots that dance before your eyes. Floaters.
At first, he thought they were harmless.
He was wrong.
Whatever they touch suffers an agonizing death.
They strike without warning.
There is no defense.
There is no escape.