Nicholas Blake’s Little, Black, Book:

The book you don’t want to be named in

Artwork by Julia Nova/Shutter Shock

The shelter my suburban life carefully constructed kept me living in a safe world where bad things didn’t happen to good people unless from tragic accidents or standard errors. The walls were too paper-thin; if only the veil had been made of glass, I could have seen him coming before my perspective collided with a reality I never imagined could exist. All I know is, I’m not the villain, and he’s not the hero; allow me a moment to offer you some valuable insight into this dark turn of events.

Nicholas Felix Blake should have come with a warning label. He looks like fulfilled dreams and unbroken promises wrapped up in a tall, debonaire, awe-striking runway model. He has a way of being exactly what you didn’t know you were missing. Never would I have ever fathomed he could be unwaveringly malevolent. I’m not hyperbolic; this brilliant, bold, breathtaking man has not a single benevolent bone in his body! How can heaven dwell in such a hellish place?

Felix (Nicholas Blake) or Lix, for short, is how. Lix is the first anomaly I’ve come across in such magnitude; he embodies angelic traits with demonic tendencies in a fitted tee. He skated into my life at such a formidable, inundated rate; we had a Niagara Falls encounter, intensity…