The words resounded against the dripping walls. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Blood trickled from the corners of Trevor Hartigan’s mouth. His awareness flickered from the pain coursing through his broken fingertips to the oppressive heat in the room, to the crooked expression on the interrogator’s ugly face. “If you lie to me again,Continue reading “Too Late For Remorse”
My Zeda could not afford to buy real fishing poles, so he made them instead. I didn’t mind. He said they would work just fine.