Welcome to Rápido Reads - part of the Birth of Clarity brand.
The liquid soothed him no more. It burned.
The aftertaste was sickening. Bile built up from the depths of his bowels.
He thought he might cry. Tears formed. His body hurt. His mind ached.
No more. He wanted no more.
But the hand had other ideas.
His mouth, forced open by fingers he recognised but could not place, filled with the poison.
No more, he begged.
The tattoo. He knew that tattoo.
Once again, the hand poured the bad-tasting brew into his gob.
It was his tattoo.
Why was he doing this to himself?
“I fucking hate you,” the mouth muttered.
It all made sense now.
I wanted a place where I could brain-dump shorter posts that have been swimming around in my head. And Rápido Reads is where you can read them!
Thanks for reading,
Roscoe | Rápido Reads
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