Rustle. Flash of red. I shuddered walking down Hillhouse Ave, recalling that battlefield, that slaughterhouse. My fingers ...

I was born with a short tongue, an attached lingual frenulum that keeps me grounded, hindering my ability to move my tongue ...

You stayed the swelling flesh around the ignored gaping wound were gifted the bitterest of blames for your own suffering and never pardoned for the […] ...