A cheery voice echoes over the crowd,
"Get your Madness here, fifty gold a bottle." The figures swarm the truck clawing for their chance to taste. Their eyes bloodshot and wide. Arms twitching and heads tilting as they listen to those not there, edging them on, they whisper the chant. More. More. More.
There's never enough.
YOU ARE READING
Dreamories
RandomMy dreams tend to vary from weird to weirder. And no two are alike. These are some of the things I wrote right when I woke up.
