The Destroyed Object Is Resurrected - A Prosepoem
I feel better at home, though when I go into the kitchen the staff have turned into simian creatures. Not quite human, not quite monkey. Something gleefully in between, well-dressed as ever.
I feel better at home, though when I go into the kitchen the staff have turned into simian creatures. Not quite human, not quite monkey. Something gleefully in between, well-dressed as ever.
In an age where every word is a potential weapon and every hurt feeling a crime scene, the loudest moralists aren’t protecting the vulnerable—they’re auditioning for the Inquisition.