Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.
Would I come off as a creepy-stalker-kind-of-guy or would it demonstrate that I cared?
Misadventurous
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Would I come off as a creepy-stalker-kind-of-guy or would it demonstrate that I cared?
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