The Last Voicemail
The Last Voicemail It was a pleasant, calm day; the gentle breath of a world that turned unnoticed, the sky the colour of a bruised plum; heavy and wet.In a terraced house, the air had become stale; a taste of old taste lingering, mixing with a cloying sweetness of rot that a small, drafty window could now quite exhale. Peter’s home…, it stood as a monument to the slow-motion collapse of a…


















