Murphy O’Brian was the first to die. At five in the morning he staggered home from the bar. On a flight of fancy, he jumped to the railing along the Eastside Bridge. Headlights flashing into his eyes on the left, murky, slow moving water to the right, he was rather proud of his ability to balance. When the giant tentacle wrapped around his waist he assumed it was just his drunken imagination. The second to die was a salesman trying to get a jump on the day. He didn’t believe in the leviathan either.
The Hub: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Photo credit: The Reclining Gentleman
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