NEW FICTION:

It moved within him. It shifted, it flexed, it wound itself around his heart, teased itself across his stomach, fluttered through his lungs. He was nervous when it wished him to be, he was broken with lust when there was something to be gained, he shifted with envy, restrained himself with anger - when it was required. He had no will, no real destiny of his own. He was a puppet with an insidious master, a dummy with a sliding mask. You can't hold back - was whispered constantly in a small space at the back of his skull - you can never hold back. And he didn't, not just because he couldn't, but because he didn't want to. He shrugged inwardly - he didn't want to.