The Wistful Asylum
The mud in the trench was not merely wet earth but a living, sucking thing that seemed to know the exact weight of my boots and the precise frequency of my despair, pulling at my boots with a tenacity that mirrored the static crackling through the field radio perched on the sandbagged parapet. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, and I have been waiting for six days for the week to end so...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen