EVERYONE ADD ME IM cerozer0 #1700
- Last Seen: 5 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: IntenseInsanity
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 1517 (0.39 / day)
- VMs: 15
-
Username history
- cerozer0 7 yrs ago
- ██████ 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Dion,
AlteredTundra
Status
Recent Statuses
6 yrs ago
Current
rpg’s biggest issue? the gender binary
2
likes
6 yrs ago
im a fool in fool clothes
2
likes
6 yrs ago
pussi
6 yrs ago
the nyc commute grind reveals why adults pass out at 9 pm daily
4
likes
6 yrs ago
its a dick suck dick world ya know
7
likes
Most Recent Posts
@HalfOfLancelot
we drop the beat one after another for a whole ten seconds of BEAT DROPPIN SHIELDS
jk shes better but im the best in all my american games ;D play with me bruh
we drop the beat one after another for a whole ten seconds of BEAT DROPPIN SHIELDS
jk shes better but im the best in all my american games ;D play with me bruh
(hello it me i here)
Skav stared ahead blindly, now wordless and instead too desolate of air to even react to Blue's cooing. How foolish they were, to forget how to breathe, to forget an essential to living, how wondrously idiotic they could become. It was so impossible to even grasp at the idea of simply being when their mind was filled to the brim with memories. Idly, they saw Blue's confusion, Blue's concern, and struggled to not worry them any further. They had an explanation, they just couldn't give it; it was extremely difficult to speak when you couldn't breathe, after all.
Once upon a time, Skav happened upon a homeless veteran in the streets of San Manzano. They passed by at first with only a simple nod and the slip of a dollar, but the man was oddly unresponsive to Skav's pity. This stranger stared ahead, blind, in a mist of something like nostalgia but much more deadly. It took them a moment to realize the man was suffocating on his own useless lungs, panicking at the sight of something invisible, something that happened once before in their life. Without much else to do, Skav waited for the man to come down from their breathlessness, apathetic and curious, and from there they discovered a new illness-- Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. To put a scientific word to their demons was grounding, even if it could be a misdiagnosis. Perhaps it would hold the same affect for Blue, who was clinging to words and touch alone while Skav was grasping for air.
It wasn't impossible to come back from an attack alone. Skav had practiced it many times when sleepless nights caught up to them. Repeating words to themself helped, nice words, forgettable words, over and over and over again until they lost meaning and Skav focused more on remembering what that word was then the storm of memory that thundered through their mind. Pinches to bare skin, drinking, and laying outside under the starless night were all scenarios that had helped them in the past, but Blue was here now. None of those practices will work. Find something new. Their mind whispered, something out of routine. Something grounding. Okay it's okay it's okay it's okay. Skav shudders, sucking in a shaking breath and sighing it out in a hot gust. Blue's eyes bore into their's, dark and stormy. 'It's okay, it's okay, it's okay', he said.
"She'll. Hurt. You." Skav wheezed back.
'Love your neighbor as yourself.' Mark 12:31. Skav faltered, shoulders drooping as the verse twisted in their mind. Killing is something they had tried to stray away from, because it was wrong to draw blood. Sure, they fought, they were aggressive and sharp and ready to defend, but they never wanted to kill. They breathed violence, but never enough to murder. And yet... They partook in the downfall of this man in front of them. Skav brought shaky hands up to rest on Blue's, lifeless and cold. They clung to his fingers as he cradled their face and breathed in another long, shaky sigh. There was warmth here, life. Blood and soul. Drugs and sex. Blue Blue Blue Blue. Skav could see the torture now, Arya's flawless smile and dainty hands wrapped tight around Blue's throat. Needles upon needles of poison and antidote. A snake mask, lifeless and cold.
Skav shook like mad and squeezed their eyes shut, whispering, "She'll find you, she'll find you. I'm sorry, Blue." They wanted, for once, to cry, to dispel all these awful emotions, but no tears came. They breathed in again, and then out.
They couldn't live if they couldn't breathe, and they couldn't find more reasons to live if they were dead. Skav tried to push down the dread in their chest, to clear their head, to just be, but it was hard. Fingers tightened around Blue's, clammy and shaky and clueless, and Skav tried again. In and out. They focused on the man's voice and breathed, in and out. They opened their eyes to stare ahead and breathed, in and out. They felt the invisible hands on their head, on their throat, on their body fade and breathed. In. And. Out.
"Blue." Skav rasped, and they sucked in one large gulp of air and held it. The panic passed and, suddenly, they were exhausted. Free, free, free, but exhausted. Who knew clinging to life could take so much out of someone. Their fingers slipped, curling into fists at their side, and in a hollow voice they commanded, "Let go of me." Not waiting to be gently released, Skav pulled back out of their hands and rubbed at their sweat-shiny face, searching for words but finding only mouthfuls of blessed life. Their lungs ached with each swell, and they just wanted to lean back and sleep off the remaining tremors of fear.
"This... This is what she did to me." Skav leveled their gaze with Blue, feeling cold and empty, "She broke me." Broken. Like an old toy, broken. Ripped apart, sewn back together, ripped apart again. Skav pushes back the rising bile as they remembered the night Arya compared them to a bunny, no, a hare. Quick to run, easily snapped. заяц. They pressed a finger to their temple, then put it to their pulse to feel an erratic heart beat, which they silently willed to slow down. It took them a moment to notice the blood currently crusting under their nails, and another to realize they had formed new scratches around the old scars on their right arm. They saw blood and winced, but curiously felt no pain, no sickness, nothing.
Feeling would return in the morning.
Skav scooted back until their back hit the couch, and then they slowly rose up onto it, laying face first on the lumpy cushions. Now devoid of energy, they waved a single hand to the bare bed on the other end of the room and turned their head to stare out at Blue. "Sleep." They whispered, "In the morning-- I'll be fine in the morning." They didn't say 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry', but they did think it. Over and over and over again. And then they thought of nothing. Sleep hit them like a truck, and suddenly, they were gone. Motionless. Dreamless. Asleep.
no no no no no
Skav clung to Blue desperately, because that was all they could think to do now. Shaking like mad, they wanted to scream it wasn't okay, it would never be okay. People like them were doomed to be suffocated by people like Arya and Blue's mother. Skav wasn't going to survive the summer, and that was that. That was God's will, that was natural selection. The weak die first to make way for the strong. Skav was weak, Arya was strong, that's how it was before and how it will remain. It wasn't okay. It wasn't okay. Skav realized they were riding the coattails of a panic attack a second too late, and just after coming to terms with that they were aware of Blue's inquiry. When and where and why and how and how and how.
How were they going to die?
Knives and needles hung in front of their eyes. Skav hid their face in Blue's shoulder again.
"Saw her... I saw her last on the day my mom died. Three years ago." Skav breathed, trying to slow their rambling mind and heaving lungs. Subconsciously, their arms tightened around Blue's midsection, squeezing his tighter and tighter with each shuddering sigh. Only three years. Idly, they mused over how young they were, being only nineteen. Skav felt much too young to die. "That house was so quiet, so-so quiet, and I saw mom hanging-- no, I saw her shadow first, in the doorway, swinging, hanging on the fan. And when I went in to the room next door and I saw Arya staring out the window and she was smiling, and she turned to me and said 'свободный конец'--'loose end'." Skav's Russian was unpracticed and accent-less, but they translated the mush of a word easily. It was such a crystal clear memory, Skav felt sick reciting it so easily. Another tremor shot through them, stunned them, and Skav had to untangle their arms to save Blue from being crushed by the sheer force of the panic attack.
Still, they went on, tearless and stuttery, horribly apathetic. "She--she gave me a five minute head start. I think she expected to catch up, to find me outside in the town somewhere but I didn't leave the house. I locked myself in the guest bedroom closet and stayed there for-for God knows how many days, then I stole dad's Mustang and drove until it was out of gas and out of energy. I ended up outside of San Marzano, and here I am." They laughed, ignoring the horrid noise it was in favor of pulling far, far away from Blue. They scrambled back into the other arm of the couch and fought to breathe, staring wildly down at the man.
He wanted answers. He needed answers.
He won't help you, just die already and get it over with-- right on your own terms.
The knives are in the kitchen, in the bathroom, made out of glass and concrete. One slice and you're out forever.
Suicide is a sin.
"I won't last the summer." Skav hissed, squeezing their cloudy eyes shut tightly, "No one needs a loose end in the family. Kill one and their secrets die with them, get it?" They curled in on themself and suffered through the panic attack that was fully upon them, fighting to breathe but fighting harder to give Blue an answer they deserved.
Then it hit them. Skav rose their head and stared dumbly ahead, all pretenses of apathy and panic gone in favor of chilling realization. They gaped, they swallowed, they didn't breathe, then in broken Russian they pointed at Blue and said, "свободный конец." Skav could cry again if they had the energy to. Instead, they stood and instantly stumbled, crashing onto their knees with a loud bang. "I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. A drunk fucking idiot. I've killed you too, haven't I? Oh God, Oh dear God-- stupid, stupid--" They slammed a hand against their forehead and winced. Skav shouldn't have been so blindly eager to share, to get drunk without keeping themself under control.
"Blue," They cried; it was a broken, ugly noise, "The man you killed, the men in the bar, they said her name-- I heard it. I might have been high as shit but I heard it, and that means they know her, or they're working for her. They saw you too-- dammit." Skav surged to their feet and stumbled up against a wall. "What am I supposed to do? If she finds out I told you what she did she'll kill you too-- you shouldn't, you don't--"
And then Skav the Crow panicked.
They clutched at the wall and shook. They ran their fingers over and over their head until the skin felt raw and turned over fruitless plans in their head. They imagined the dead body of Blue and nearly threw up right then and there without warning. "I don't know what to do." They whispered, "I've killed you, I've killed you. You don't deserve that, no, no, no. I've killed you." They scratched at their scarred arms, picked apart the healed flesh and remembered how each was obtained. Some Arya, some not. The 'not's gave them a fledgling feeling of balance, too small to cling to. Skav pressed their face into their hands and clutched for air that didn't exist again.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
“I am worthless. I am nothing–”
Skav stopped breathing
Arms around arms, chest to chest, heart to heart. To be touched was a fragile experience, a trigger if done wrong, a catalyst every other time. The overbearing mist of memory consumed them for a moment; the feeling of metal digging into their wrists and ankles, the burn of a rope, the mind-numbing consciousness of a sedative, everything happened at once and it was terrible. And then it was just their room, dark and slanted and bleary from the alcohol in their system. Blue was warmer than anything they had ever experienced. Blue was gentle, Blue was real. Blue wasn’t their past, but their present-– a solid force of a human that Skav had decided to share their memories with. They didn't want it to end, not yet. They moved too slowly, it seemed, after breaking out of their reminiscing, and Blue pulled away before they could speak or return the gesture or shove them away. A curious thing happened then. Skav felt as if a piece of their heart had been pulled away with the snake, and all the warmth was sucked from their body. Their chest was hollow with something missing now.
They felt so very alone.
”Oh.” They said apathetically, as if not at all shaken by the action. Skav settled back against the couch again, craving more time wrapped in Blue’s arms but finding the timing couldn't be worse as the other man had already started going on about their old home and mother. They listened with as much attention as they could muster, tangling their fingers tightly together as rage built against the faceless character known as Blue’s Mother. Wicked people deserved to rot, their mind whispered again and again. Skav could only agree.
Shivering, Skav leaned over and tipped the vodka bottle to their lips again, letting a few drops hit to back of their throat only due to the now-diminished state of the alcohol. A small amount still rolled across base, just aching the be swallowed down, but Skav was done with drinking for tonight. Their face felt red with intoxication and tears and something else entirely. They wanted to have some peace of mind for that they planned next. Silently, Skav scooted closer to Blue and raised an eyebrow, considering asking first but deciding against it at the last second. Actions speak louder than words, right?
With far-too gentle hands, they reached out and gripped Blue’s wrists, turning their arms over to inspect the veins of their arms and the scars of leftover fights and doses. Once satisfied with that picture, they let their eyes rise to gloss over his face. The dark eyes staring back were not their sister. Arya had eyes made for endless caves and stormy nights and rotten cellars. Blue’s were nothing like that. They held some humanity, and that was enough for Skav.
Awkwardly, they slide their arms beneath Blue’s and pulled him in again, feeling much more comfortable initiating the action than receiving it. The last person to have hugged them and to have gotten a hug FROM them was their mother. Skav didn't remember the warmth from back then, but they assumed it wasn't much different from the heat that resonated off Blue. They stopped whatever tears were left to cry from sliding out, if only to keep Blue’s shoulder dry, and leaned in as far as their body would let them. Something painful thumped through their veins, a quick heartbeat maybe. Skav shook around the noise– they didn't understand it– and then quietly said,
”Sorry I didn't ask first. I'm selfish.” Skav made no effort to move, instead leaning down until they were sure Blue couldn't see their face without turning in awkwardly. They made sure to keep some space between their chests, which really wasn't too hard seeing as Skav had to bend over anyways to get a good grip on the much shorter Blue. This was a good hug, they thought, good enough for them, hopefully good enough for Blue. ”Push me away if you hate it, snake.” They said with a forced laughed, ”I won't break from that.”
Skav leaned their face into Blue shoulder and sighed. They felt sort of like a parasite in this situation, trying to steal something away from the host they clung to. What was it they desired? Skav didn't really want much of anything. A bottle of alcohol every night, a single meal, a day of peace and a night of terror, that was all they craved. But now, all they wanted was something to share, and now, it was warmth. To fight the chill of unsavory hands and memories away. Skav believed it was more intoxicating than alcohol could ever be and they thought, briefly, that they should do this more often.
Skav continued the game without really thinking about it, and that– that was their first big mistake. ”My sister’s name is Arya.” They hesitated instantly on the name, arms going slack against Blue’s back, ”She's a year older than me. She's petite and very pretty– everyone said she looked like a doll wh-when we were younger. When I was eight and she was nine she handcuffed me to the fence gate outside our house and left me there until mom came home from work. When I was eleven and she was twelve, she locked me in the greenhouse and poked me with a hot knife until I screamed. When I was fourteen and she was fifteen, she dosed me with different drugs over and over and over again until I was paralyzed and unconscious and forced to the hospital.”
Skav’s muffled words caught and they shuddered, feeling no threat of tears but instead the dark room of their own mind as these memories swallowed them whole. The attack came as a silent killer, shutting down Skav’s will to be as nostalgia dragged them down into a dark place and suffocated them until they felt their lungs lurch for air. Skav breathed hoarsely against Blue’s shoulder, refusing to budge, and in silence managed to calm themself down enough to whisper, ”She's in the city and I don't know what to do.”
Skav’s arms tightened around Blue again and they shook despite their wish to remain calm, collected, and gentle. Their voice came out as a hoarse imitation of their usual dry tone, ”I don't want to play anymore, Blue. I don't want to…” They trailed off to burrow their face into the other’s shoulder again, finding comfort there, even if their hesitant body said otherwise. ”Sorry. This is not like me.”
Tears glinted in the half light, fresh and bright and rubbed away before Skav could even react to them. Questions spurred, queued up, and died on anxious lips. Being so close to someone to see their tears, and hear the shakiness of their voice was affecting Skav oddly. Something like pity that wasn't quite pity kept gnawing at their heart. Sorrow? Pain? A need to touch Blue’s hair again? The name of the emotion was lost to inexperience and alcohol. Skav quietly sank into themself and waited, waited and listened to Blue’s somewhat-known truth as if it held all the answers to the crushing weight that stuffed their lungs full. Shakily, they snatched up the bottle and drank until their throat felt raw.
“That idiot should be rotting in hell by now.” Skav said in response to Blue’s retelling of his fateful encounter with the Razors. Their voice was devoid of emotion again. Their eyes were devoid of light. Their veins devoid of blood. Blue’s truths choked them just as bad as their own, leaving foul tastes in their mouth and a wish for murder on their fingertips. Skav was aware, suddenly, of the similarities between them. The faint knowledge that both of them were abused, pushed around, taken in. There was something oddly comforting about this comparison to Skav, something that made them feel as if their secrets were really, truly safe in this space.
”Blue, you–” Skav slurred their words and felt much, much sicker than they should be after just a few chugs, ”You don't deserve– didn't deserve– any of what happened to you. Just know that.” They breathed in deeply, apathy breaking to harbor a grimace, but the twisted expression turned to awe at Blue’s next question. They blinked, tried to fight away the heat in their brain, and then blinked again. ”You want to touch me?” Skav resisted the urge to say ‘why’ and instead quirked an eyebrow and shook their head slowly at Blue's apology.
A memory appeared then and there; a new truth to bat away the awful urge to mention Arya. ”The last person to, uh, touch me without being high or drunk or mad was the head priest at my church.” Something like happiness clipped through their shroud of reminiscence. It was refreshing to find a good truth. ”I had went to him to confess to something, and I expected him to shun me or turn me away– to say I was too sinful to stand in that pew with him, but…”
Skav stared at their hands and frowned, which made their face seem softer, feel lighter. ”He held my hands, took off my gloves, and thanked me for sharing my grievances. And his hands were soft, an-and–” Skav’s eyes misted and the bottle lifted to rest by their lips, not tipping any further to drink.
”He held me like I was something worth holding. Funny, huh?”
Skav had never been the empathic type. Their mother had tried to instill a sense of righteousness into them at a young age, the kind that allowed you to see the tears of others and relate to them in some way to help them with their sorrow. Arya had ruined this side of Skav– with knives and needles she poked away at the child they were and burned that bit of them to pieces. It was gone, never to have existed perhaps, but not tonight. Tonight Skav felt their heart swelled and their veins clench with relatable pity and concern. The misty eyes of Blue and the horror of remembering started a chain reaction of chemicals within Skav, and suddenly, they were crying. Silently. Motionlessly.
The tears slid down their cheeks and strained their neck with water. Skav made no move to rub them away. They breathed and cried, spurred by memory and the sight of the only real person they've talked to deeply like this crying. They cried like it was as easy as breathing, though the torment in their eyes told another story.
Skav didn't like showing weakness. This was a weakness. Still, they held out their hands as if expecting Blue to still take them. ”You– you can touch me.” A pause, and then they forced a straight, watery face to say, ”And it's your turn.”
Skav drank in silence, contemplating Blue’s reaction to their scars and Blue’s reaction to reminiscing. Were those tears? Was that a sigh? Oh, Blue. They couldn't hide the tension that clenched their jaw at the mention of a sibling, nor could they hide the fire of realization as to how Blue became so dependent on things like drugs and sex. It was odd, knowing things and feeling emotion towards this knowledge. It was odd sharing secrets. It was odd being seen without a mask and layers to hide away their memories. Skav pressed a finger against their lip again, staring blankly at the shaky breaths Blue took. Something like pity swelled, pity or disgust or chilling concern, and suddenly they couldn't stand it.
For once, Skav moved on a whim. They pushed away from the arm of the couch, closing the small space between them and Blue, and then carded their fingers through the man’s hair. Skav felt dampness from the shower, weight from the locks, and an odd warmth behind their eyelids. They drew back into themself slower than they planned and sighed, eyebrows knitted as they said blankly, “I’m drunk.”
As if to prove a point, they took a long swig from the bottle and groaned, feeling their very soul clench and twist against the bite of the alcohol. It burned a hole in their heart, and numbly Skav whispered, “Sorry for your loss.” They did not say ‘good riddance’, because Blue didn't deserve that harsh of a truth. Another sip made their face feel pink and their mind slow. Skav counted memories of their past, searching for a good truth rather than a rant about their sadist of a sister, and finally they settled back against the cushions and shrugged. Nonchalance poured from every angle of them, even though there was a shadow of a nostalgic smile on their lips.
“I used to live in a nice house about three hours from here. It was so nice– I remember it had a greenhouse and I would spend my days in there with my dad, just reading or examining the flowers my mom planted.” Skav said nothing about the first night Arya had locked them inside that glass building for ‘some easy testing’. “ My mom and dad were great, kind even, though they were busy with work a lot. Mom was a messenger of sorts between the gang and Mafia set up in that town, dad was… Something worth killing. I also had a sister, but…” Skav hesitated, drawing their knees up to their chest warily, as if they were preparing for a blow from something or someone.
“But good things don't last, of course. I found my dad beaten to death with a baseball bat in our backyard, and mom had been dosed with something bad– very, very bad. Killed herself in the aftermath.” Skav dug their nails into their palms, teeth clenched into a smile despite the chilling calm in their gaze. The future and the past melded together into one mesh, a drunken memory of fans and ropes and slanting blinds. Skav ran their tongue over their split lip and tasted chemicals and raw flesh.
Grounding.
Skav let their head tip back, neck straining against the weight of their murderous thoughts. Mom’s face hung in front of their eyes, Arya’s hands clutched at their neck, dad’s blood choked out whatever air was left in their body. “Life is a nightmare.” Skav said simply, and reached for the bottle. The shakiness of their fingertips didn't bode well, however, and instead of grabbing the vodka they bumped it, allowing the bottle to clatter to the floor. Skav stared at it dumbly, thanking God for caps silently, and then turned an expectant gaze towards Blue, waiting for a new truth.
Skav waggles a finger in Blue's direction at their self-deprecating smirk, eyes glittering with something new, something exciting. They looked like a child for a moment, a child who had discovered something worth playing with and examining. They saw an inch of Blue's self-hate, right? A margin of the man's true colors. Observation was Skav's key trait as a scout for the Razors, and if they didn't put it to use now then what good were they? "If you keep up this little act of yours, Blue, then you'll stay nothing." Skav leans forward and offers a soft, uncharacteristic smile. They felt the tension of a lie between them, but they weren't sure if it was Blue lying to himself or Skav. It left the latter feeling a bit prickly, a bit concerned, and a bit curious. "Don't you know? I can't stand liars."
As Blue turns the conversation over to Skav's questions, they listen quietly, not expecting much. Their apathy returns in record time, and they seem rather unaffected by the other's words until the end. They blinked, feeling a bit caught off guard, and then pressed further into the arm of the couch. Idly, they picked at the fraying fabric at the edge of the cushion, snuffing a dopey look. This time, they felt no lies. "Everyone listens, and San Marzano hasn't changed, regardless if I'm here or not. It'll always be a dreary, dark shithole." Skav gives Blue a complicated expression, a mixture of confusion and gratitude, and then they reached down to snatch up their water bottle.
Skav drank slowly, eyes dark, but at Blue's next question they froze. Their chest constricted, their mind blanked, everything turned white and fuzzy and Skav only saw dark eyes. Their glare refused to falter, even if their fingers clenched and shook.
"Why? Ah--" Skav forced a straight face and leaned back, trying to get as far as humanly possible away from Blue's stare. The couch suddenly felt too small, too open, and without much of a warning they rose and wandered back into the kitchen. Every move was calculated, every step heavy, every sway intentional. Hands grappled quietly for ajar cabinets, pulling out half-empty liquor bottles. Of course, drinking after just throwing up every single poisonous substance in their body wasn't a smart move, but the morning was bound to be a rough one regardless, and with a soft laugh they spun the cap off an aged vodka and took a long, burning shot.
They breathed around their screaming lungs, head stuffed with cotton and veins pumped too full of blood, and then they turned and returned to the couch, passing on the bottle to Blue expectantly. "This is gonna help," They said first, casually nodding to the bottle between them, "Because obviously nothing is peachy keen in life for people like us." Skav stared ahead, trained apathy glowing from every inch of their body, and they focused on the gaze in front of them. Dark eyes versus light ones, dealer versus scout, Blue versus Skav.
They had no reason to hide from Blue. They also had no reason to spill their heart to him, no matter how good getting everything off their chest would feel. Words queued up, confessions and prayers, apologies and curses, lies and truths. Skav placed a thumb to their bottom lip and pushed at the skin there, lost in thought. The action was so innately human, so innately Skav, that they barely registered the tick.
"How about this," Skav began, throwing an arm over the back of the couch (calculated, calculated), "We'll make this a game. A past for a past, a truth for a truth. That way this doesn't become too one sided." And that way, I can hold myself back. Skav's eyebrows perk slightly, and without another word they held out their arms and rolled up the sweater's sleeves as far back as possible. Even in the window-lit room, the spots of needle marks and knife scars stood out among their tan skin. Most assumed them to be self-inflicted, and from them a pretty basic past could be thought up. Most believed Skav was once a drug addict, once institutionalized, once something more than the Christian they are now. None of those stories were true.
"These scars aren't self inflicted." Skav said matter-of-factly, head tilted up and away from the raised flesh as if it offended them, "They're the reason I came here. I ran. I had to get away from he-- the thing that did this to me." Skav stopped themself quickly and slid the sleeves back down, eyes heavy-lidded and not foggy enough to deal with the painful flashes of memory happening within. They reached for the bottle and took another swig, gasping against the burn in their throat.
"That's my first truth. You go, Bluesy. Have any secrets you want to share?"
© 2007-2024