Writer, globe-trotter, history student, swashbuckling pirate. I make a mean quesadilla.
Quite fond of writing and even fonder of making a happy reader out of someone like you.
For a self-proclaimed minimalist, Joseph Daneka fails spectacularly at it.
The cabbies skinless hands gripped the wheel. Bones, tendons and muscles leaving a trail of fluid on the wheel as it spun to pull the cab out. The driver looked backwards casually. “Rough day at work?”
“He sees you” the man said in a raspy voice. “He watches you every day. We watch you, always.”
Lines like these really help paint a picture of the darkness of his character.
I can feel it. I can see the afterlife. Death can’t be the end. Why not just let go?
I can feel it. I can see the afterlife. Death can’t be the end. Why not just let go?
Claws of gravity latched him as the city below attempted to claim one more soul for her bloody belly.
Lines like these really help paint a picture of the darkness of his character.