Pippa

Three weeks after he'd seen the building, he was throwing up again. In he middle of the night. Sweating and shaking, he resurfaced, and stared at the face in the cracked mirror. It looked whiter than he remembered, and a hell of lot more scared than he could ever remember. He glanced down. There were more teeth in the vomit. Small ones and spiky ones. He poked at them. There were five this time, floating on the sick like pearly icebergs. His stomach lurched, and he grabbed the edge of the sink, but there was nothing left to give.