General

The smell of the drains was a Gollum hand, reaching up my nose to rattle my brain. It was as if its fingertips had made craters in my grey-matter, bruising it for no other reason than a cold and petty thrill. How could it? Foul though was, it’s just a stink. Somewhere, behind the closed and double-locked doors of my memories, a darkness stirred. PTSD erased my memories, but whatever happened, it stank this same way.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, October 20, 2024.
General

You can throw out the tuna, this message is pitch perfect. Don't fork this up people. The entire industry is fishy and fish heads are stinky.