FOUL RIVER

FOUL RIVER

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, Sep 26, 2015
Those hands. Every time I look at them I’m reminded of how much I deserve to get exactly what’s coming. To starve. To die. There’s blood on those hands. But not as much blood as there is on the hands of the man who just passed by my empty tin, money in his pocket, without so much as a passing glance. The man who didn’t do anything to me. The man who just killed me. This is the world seen through the eyes of a beggar in the 18th century.
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"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭" ------------------------------------ I hear he breathing hitch I lean over close to her ear. "You know what I hate hm" she doesn't respond "I don't like repeating myself," I say as I squeeze her neck a little tighter not enough to cause pain not that I think she would mind. Something tells me that this vixen likes a little pain. "No sir" she tried to say but it comes out as a soft moan. What I'd pay to hear that every day. "I hate being ignored Arabelle" she visibly gulps "I wasn't I wasn't ignoring you" I chuckle humorlessly release her neck and go sit in my chair. "Over my knee Now!" she looks stunned but doesn't move. "I already told you I don't like repeating myself"

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