New York Story Night #57

"She's not as mean as you painted her."

You smelled like crushed roses, and the feel of your fingers was cool on my neck.

You shook your head. “I can’t stay past sunset. The lady needs me.”

It was the propaganda that they would drop from helicopters, the blades whipping up a storm of paper every time the helicopter dipped close to the ground.

I twisted my body to look around, but there was no one else but the turtle staring into my face.

“Do we get to keep our stolen lives forever?”

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Authors
Chuck Palahniuk