The Wistful Show

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2026-08-19 09:28:41 -

The Wistful Show

The mud tasted of iron. I spat it out. My hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. The rain fell in sheets. Thick. Heavy. It blurred the world. I could not see the line. I could not see the end. I only felt the weight of the satchel. It hung low. It pulled at my shoulder. It was heavy with secrets. Heavy with sins. I walked. I did not run. Running made the heart race. And a racing heart broke the...

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