Surrealism

"Crystal!"

Harry couldn't seem to shake off a venerable feeling-it jumped at him every time he thought back to Tony.

"Crystal!"

He had no logical explanation for his unease; in fact, he had no justification for it. Tony had done nothing wrong. He scoffed and stood back, re-evaluating his thoughts. He turned from the door and murmured under his breath.

"Shit." He flustered. He bit his lip in frustration, he then clenched his fist and released it as soon as he looked up.

There it was; the object of his fury-standing poker-faced and iridescent to its surroundings. Its mouth fully open, like a void that sucked his velour dry. His eyes stung and a wave of unbridled anger erupted within him.

"What do you want!"

As if in reply a soft-spoken voice from behind him exclaimed.

"Harry?"