2018 was a mess. A big, weird mess.
Gotta get back into things. Life doesn’t stop when we want it to.
A memory wriggled itself out of the hell of its archive.
Pearson had wanted to wear a jacket when he got out of bed. He loved jackets.
I cannot hide what I am anymore.
In ages past, our people were few. We could not grow in numbers as constant travel to tap into scarce sources of food kept us at humble numbers. In these days, the careful harvest of the Stoneborn Fig sustained us.
It’s me. Alone in this single room. This uncovered box.