Bubbly stories

So there Brandon was, lips cracked, tongue feeling like the sand he was laying on, hair all salty and sticky, clothes ragged. If you could still call them clothes, that is. He somehow had managed to find shelter under an upside-down little boat, else he would have been roasted by the blazing sun long ago. It was all he could do, the moment he washed ashore, before he would pass out. Shelter in the trees would have been a couple of 100 feet further away, but you never knew what dangers they would present. In the state he was in, it would have proven to be fatal.

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Sue me.

Vorige week meldde ik dat ik met een paar dagen een update zou maken van Struggle. Aan de post geschiedenis is duidelijk te zien dat ik dit niet heb gedaan.

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