Another lonely day of cleaning up shit in the porcelain prison of the bathtub. The scrubbing bubble wished for someone to share some time with.
I was twelve years old the first time I saw Parker Wells. I was fighting with my earring to put it in its place in my ear in front of my mirror; a look of sadness possessed my features, thinking about every thing that was wrong with my face and the few possibilities I had to fix none of them. His face appeared in the...
And our job here, my friends, is to break those stigmas that so many stories have set. May be cliché to want to break clichés but oh well. We read, a lot, and we criticize, also a lot. So we chose all the things we don't like about stories and we decided to make them right. Wanna give it a shot? Click on 'Start Read...