bluebran

It was messed up. There was no sense of progression, none of the comforts of home and, every day, that growing pain inside him. That thing was driving him mental: whenever he felt it resting against the muscles of his chest, it was as if he had a sort of virus playing with his mind, his senses, making everything ten times worse than it was. It wasn't just that, it was beyond. At night, when the thing lay somewhere else, he still couldn't sleep or put his mind at ease. He missed home. Not only the material stuff: not just his mum's wickedly delicious food, nor his comfortable bed, nor a proper bathroom with his favourite soap, nor even fli