Elizabeth,
I can feel death on my door. I can feel it on my neck, in my room, and I can always hear it following me. I wished to speak with you before I die, but death surrounds me, and it is unbearable. I know you wish not to see my face, but I wish you could spare me one last kiss, one hug, or even just a glance. Please let me hold you once more.
Charlie
YOU ARE READING
The Flower and The Grave
Short StoryA short story about a man whose mother disapproves of his relationship with his lover. The story is told through letters. It's not good enough to be published in an actual book but I needed people (other than my mom and English teacher) to read it l...
