Flying Death
he says, and I struggle to understand how he could be so calm right now.
Roddy fucking WAS the Flying Death to me. Everything we represent, stand for and protect. He was all of it. I feel cheated, robbed. Nowhere to direct the intense anger bubbling inside me. There’s only one thing that will satiate me, though it’s only ever temporary. The itch is never, ever fully scratched.
I squat to the ground, rip my muscle shirt off and use the clean side to wipe the blood from my face. Missile and Buddy come in, I only know by their scents. I don’t look anywhere but at Dozer.
Hot Chapters