Ethereal chains binding you to your wife rattle as you trudge onto the porch. To the cold indifferent desert night. Heads of men that once voted you bounce across the barren road, ensnared in tumbleweeds.
Crackling paper pleasure, you roll another cancer-stick—a brief respite from the mental anguish of your sins.
Hopefully hell claims you sooner. You offered your town to the devil, to revive a wife that never wanted a husband but a fat-wallet mayor.
Her reanimated corpse shrills beside you, and you cry because you know: Once you used the grimoire’s spell, sunlight would never shine again.
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alt="Neuroluxe Implant no 3Z82M99B64 by Bryanna Botham"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Blindly Following Orders by Chris Tattersall"
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