joseandresaguayo
This time I could swear that the cat was alive. It rolled through the floor like if it had been dead for a long time. The tint in its fur looked vintage, but I knew it was the same cat I had loved and cared for.
Dehydrated is a confusing word for a short story.
Although I've been looking for something new, the magazines piled up in the corner always seem interesting. Each time I pick one of those up, it feels like if I haven't read it before, and all the stories inside are brand new.
Finally, I get to choose a side. Scott lies in a puddle of his own blood next to me, but as I walk towards him, I realize maybe it's the wrong idea. I know I'm wrong, but I still do it.