Stories tagged ink

Why I Write

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Creep up behind me one day and prick my skin. I promise you won’t draw blood – for it is ink that will spurt from my veins.


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It was raining when I found his glasses on the moor, a typical misting drizzle that chilled the skin and gathered on the wiry grass, but leaves a person reluctant to wear a hat or pull their hood up, because by the time the weather's apparent, hair and hood are already…


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this is where we end -- the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.