not a good sign ( Read more... )

Eyes closed, a sort of mahogany, burgundy, the colour of blood and blindness, white and black and red and brown, but it’s not all about sight, life isn’t. Sometimes you fail to see the most important things. He knows what is around him, he can smell the hard wooden floor, and himself on the bed sheets. Opens his mouth, breathes in: that’s the taste ( Read more... )