that’s the secret of life — knowing when to leave.
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that’s the secret of life — knowing when to leave.
emma mcleod - because its a little easier to deal with the world’s problems when equipped with the right over-sized wool sweaters
“Do not go too far for peace and quiet do not run too far because the country can be as loud as the city too noisy in its stillness and anyway, there will always be your breath which, hard as you try, you cant do without you cant run away from. There will always be your heart beating stronger and louder the harder, the further you run.” - Yrsa Daley-Ward
SARAH ROSE SADIE SMYTHE | 31 | PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR | LOSER’S CLUB
She buried something in Fox Pass -- and it should have been picked over and scattered in the detritus by now. The old farmhouse is sealed up, the orchard overgrown, the black weasel that lived underneath the kitchen now taken roost in the attic. No, not him -- she reminds herself -- he’s long dead. Or should be. There is the littering of a past life -- a sun-bleached barrette, broken and lost in a tangle of the rosebushes that twine with poison oak and climb to the edge of her window. A beer can rusts in the driveway, the twelve bear skulls once kept in the living room are heaped in the backyard like brittle kindling. She’s not a little girl. She will not be afraid.
It is a house -- a shell, occupant long vacated, buried in those woods of his. Worm-eaten, cold.
But she half expects to hear his voice curl clamor like brimstone from the den: “Don’t be a little bitch, starling -- come in and take your shot.”
( miguel gomez ) broken boy. ex con with a heart of gold. split psyche. protector. proud latino. rage, rage against the dying of the light. lapsed catholic. father to be.
A reckoning is coming, boy.
You can’t hide forever.
Emmanuel Agua. 40. Park Ranger. An outgoing shut in. Has a few skeletons in his closet -or, rather, buried deep in the forest.
LAUREL GARDNER // 23 // WRITER // edgy, fake bad ass, lesbian & single.
“Coming home felt like a hand wrapping around her heart, squeezing so hard that she lost the ability to breath. Her hands felt sweaty. Slick against the handle of her suitcase as she pulled it onto the porch, her foot catching the top step as she stumbled. A heaving sigh escaped her, the air of home filling her lungs. It remained unchanged. To the plants overgrown, gutters full, the windows dirty. It was like being thrown back in time, back to senior year when she stood on this porch with the very same suitcase in hand ready to leave and never come back. She wasn’t supposed to ever come back. Life was funny like that.”
emma mcleod - thirty, beleaguered book editor. workaholic deadpan snarker, sharp but soft badass & recent fox pass returnee. loyal to a fault. emotionally constipated mom friend.