Thanksgiving 2020: The Wurse Files
“I’m — thirsty.” Barely audible; the words prickled my tongue. There was no moisture left to carry them. By the time “thirsty” scraped its way out, I was gone. Continue →
Anonymously Yours
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“I’m — thirsty.” Barely audible; the words prickled my tongue. There was no moisture left to carry them. By the time “thirsty” scraped its way out, I was gone. Continue →