Heaven Below a Scorched Plane

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Chapter 17

Gherman rubbed his hands together, trying to fight off the cold. Underneath the wraps they were bloated and red, and though to an observer these traits would not appear very severe, to Gherman the sensation far outweighed the physical symptoms. It pained him to clench his fingers, and his whole body felt like a complex contraption made rusty with age, only able to be moved in quick violent spurts after intense exertion. His jacket was missing some lining, though he expected as much from a piece of shit he picked up at the dump. Still, guard dog got a good bite in before he could get out and all he had to show for it was a torn jacket.

Whenever he inhaled his nostrils seemed dryer, in a way that suggested something physically wrong. It made Gherman paranoid, thinking about it, this sensation. It made him want to escape, to stop being here in this moment, in the cold and in this malfunctioning body. He wanted to be, but elsewhere.

I don't know, the story's okay. Doesn't seem like it could go anywhere though.

God, what am I doing here? I'm just sitting here, like a fucking idiot. Even now I'm still here, still spinning my wheels like nothing's happening and I'm fine well I'm not fine Im losing it this is bullshit They smiled like dolls and acted all coy but this was what we got in the end what a joke I want to slit their fucking throats and watch that stupid smile crack when I kick their teeth in GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD

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