Eidolon Ave: The Second Feast
Her various wounds, rips and tears forgotten, the clumsy gashes still weeping but ignored, she’d tossed the ibuprofen, Advil, aspirin, pain relief cream, bandages, antibiotic cream aside, feeling only anger and heartbreak.
Rage.
Cold as ice and solid as stone, it was a living thing, this rage. An immense glacier of teeming vitriol. A slow, inescapable ice flow of revenge. Calculated. Patient. Inevitable.
LETTER FROM UFC
she texted.
TICKETS?
the next text said, playing on her cheating, lazy ass boyfriend’s dreams of getting a freebie to one of his beloved fights where, of course, he was sure he’d end up banging the jiggling Jumbotron blonde.
Bab Populer