My hands shook in the cold rain as I fumbled with the shovel handle as another flash of lightning illuminated the back deck’s leaf litter blanket. I gingerly took one step down, nervous about the open back of the staircase where the cat kept her hunting trophies, each one bigger than the last.
Photo by Kurayba
Comments are configured with provider: giscus, but are disabled in non-production environments.
Peter wanted a smoke. It wasn’t so much a physical need as an emotional imperative. After all, he was three years old. Fucking gypsies.
It was a dark and stormy night. Sure, it’s cliché but thats how I remember how it all started. How I was forced in to making this decision. How I ended up a...
Martin slipped his battered old pickup into neutral and turned the engine off. Ol’ Trusty coasted behind the bluff and crunched on the gravel shoulder. He wi...
“Hold the elevator, please,” said Trudy. I stuck my arm in the closing doors and they bounced open, to much irritation judging by the disgruntled huff behind...
