The Golden Maze
October 14. The tremor is bad today. Worse than yesterday. My hand shakes so violently I can barely hold the pen, let alone write legibly. I am sitting in the car, parked at the edge of the valley, and I am watching my fingers twitch against the dashboard. Mara is beside me, silent. She looks at me with that pitying, distant gaze that I hate. She is a witness. That is all she is. She watches. I...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews