I woke up to a pair of small, cold hands stroking my hair. She was paler than milk, almost grey like cement, her skin cracked like dry mud. "I like your hair, I had this before." she told me as she touched my cheek with hers.
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories (reconstructed)
Short StoryThis is a reconstructed anthology of the randomly generated stories I had in mind during 2015. (Read segment title for the list of unsettling content in each category)
