I stand before my wife's headless body, laying in our bed, tucked in, soaked in her own blood. Her closet is wide open, and her torn-up wedding gown is strewn on the floor on top of what looks to be her head. Its pearls torn out, its embroidery undone. I call the police here. I didn't realize that anyone else could be here with us, but they blame me for her death.
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Short Stories (reconstructed)
Короткий рассказThis 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)
