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Wasteland Tales #8

by

Crawling in the dirt, she can’t feel her fingers. She can barely feel her arms. The night reels around her swimming head. Shadows swirl as the fire blazes at her back.
She is not afraid. Not anymore. The pain racks her ruined body, silver-bright in the darkness. She doesn't care.
Everything that was her, cut to shreds and bled into the waste. All that she was burned away in the fire.
All that is left is rage. Hate.
Elise crawls on, a crippled serpent that means to kill before it dies.
A needle presses into her neck.
She sleeps.

2 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Horrorshow over 7 years ago

    Very well written, Jonathan.

  • avatar

    Jonathan Mills over 7 years ago

    Thanks. Probably more to come later.

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