Michael Wilkinson
Joined June 2022
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Stories (2/0)
Dust
"Why so nervous, kid?" The gun shook in Tiny's hand. He pulled his sleeve along his forehead, and it came off damp despite the chill of the late summer's night. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Not long now, not long, and it's all over. He clasped the gun in two hands and rose to his feet, puffing out a calming cloud of mist into the night.
By Michael Wilkinson2 years ago in Fiction