The Cliché Not Death
This story is from Adrianna Delligatti. Thank you for the story, Adrianna.
She’s floating on gossamer wings. The first hit was painful. Her mind unconscious long before the last.
Her lungs ache. This is not love. Love doesn’t hurt this much. She tastes the coppery tang of blood in her mouth knowing it’s imagined.
She swallows, gagging. Her eyes are red. The bag was not worth it.
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