Withered and Twisting

The twisting of our stomach is more painful by the second, and it has stopped beckoning shyly. It is clawing at my throat, and I cannot open my mouth lest it escape in a scream. #yanderevisualnovel

We are starving. I am trying to distract us but it is futile - the hunger is cancerous. Multiplying ceaselessly, evil, unspeakable, fatal.

The warm exhaust blows in our face, the stench of burnt gasoline and rubber a stark contrast from the crisp autumn breeze.

We don't remember the last time it was quiet.

it's bsky time!