Category: Bezoarville
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A_FISH_SWIMMING_ UPRIVER
<< Bezoarville The last of the real morning had shredded by the time I decided to go and take in the lay of the land. I needed more proof of this place being a haven before it could have any strong odds of becoming My New Home. Uncle Oliver had a very strong chance of…
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NO_BUMP_IN_THE_ NIGHT
<< Bezoarville Sitting in an old beat-up couch was not where I’d originally expected to end up on my first day of a new stop along the road. Especially surprising was the clean hair of a shower and a single rock-hard chocolate chip cookie. This all went pretty disconcertingly against my measly hope for a…
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FOREIGN_BODY
<< Bezoarville The rock I’d just thrown up sat in my hand. It looked annoyed. The worst part? I couldn’t tell if its annoyance came from being inside me, or being outside me. It wasn’t like any rock I’d pick up from the side of the road, but it had just as little to say…
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Prologue
<< Bezoarville I’ve lived here for sixteen years. Some years don’t end with December. If you’re reading this, then you’ve found my journal. Either I’m a goner and you have likely taken this off my body, or you found “that book she’s always carrying around” on the ground somewhere and I’d like it back. Please…