The Cell Pt. 2
The heavy steel door twisted on its hinges as it bashed against the corresponding wall.
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Off the cuff story writer, possible poet. Most likely rubbish at it.
The heavy steel door twisted on its hinges as it bashed against the corresponding wall.
The light twitched and flickered as it shook. He sat squarely at a wooden table that had hundreds of names scratched into it, messages of warning and despair. He took no notice.
I arrived at Beaumont avenue at around 2am; first on the scene. The rain had just finished its assault and I figured it was ok to remove my hood.