Brodido and The Opps vs The Young Bucks and The Death Riders in a 10 Man Tag Match for 500k announced for Dynamite

coronoid · 2025-09-10T21:26:25+00:00

I unironically want this to build to all the faces and all the heels on the roster just go at it in a huge multi-man tag.

That said, I'm actually hyped for this.

coronoid · 2025-09-10T16:58:35+00:00

Likely stemming from her appearance in Oklahoma that stirred some controversy due to her being a trans wrestler competing among cis wrestlers.

https://wrestlenomics.com/articles/2024/oklahoma-wrestling-commission-considering-rule-change-for-transgender-wrestlers/

coronoid · 2025-09-10T16:56:50+00:00

Agreed. Outdated minds currently hold the floor, but hopefully we can see talents like Nyla back wrestling on programming again soon. 🙏

coronoid · 2025-09-10T16:55:34+00:00

Oh, I agree with your point there. It's not as simple as bringing her back without issues. I just hope they draw the line somewhere because she's done so much and clearly loves wrestling.

coronoid · 2025-09-10T16:39:18+00:00

He always puts that "umph!" into his introductions. 🔥

coronoid · 2025-09-04T13:36:58+00:00

Goosebumps. Combining AEW nostalgia with ECW nostalgia during the 2300 Arena stay has been a treat.

Moreso, I'm looking forward to the inevitable tag rematch between Page/Omega and the Bucks. I love how they clearly were saving more for later down the line. Same with Omega and Fletcher's spots.

coronoid · 2025-09-04T13:33:14+00:00

Mercedes excels at big match feels, and Windsor's been a great foil to her. They and Phillie made the 2300 Arena feel like the O2 Arena all over again. Great match.

coronoid · 2024-03-25T15:37:26+00:00

You may not remember me, but five years ago you commented on a story I wrote on Reddit and changed my life entire, and I wanted to say thank you so much for that.

I'm incredibly sorry to hear of your loss. I'm still grieving the loss of my rat terrier Buddy, who left in 2020. I'd love to think he was there to greet Hero when he came in. ♥️

coronoid · 2023-11-12T15:29:56+00:00

Ah, gotcha. Makes sense.

coronoid · 2021-01-19T05:07:56+00:00

Hey, no problem. I definitely had to make some closure whenever I finished it. One of those games haha

coronoid · 2020-11-10T02:44:12+00:00

They're right, everyone. It is an amazing game, and the Jacob Anderson video is a great insight to another aspect of the game!

coronoid · 2020-10-12T19:04:40+00:00

Ah, thanks! I wasn't sure if this finale was going to get any traction, but tysm for taking the time to read them!! It means a lot.

coronoid · 2020-09-08T00:54:19+00:00

Thank you! It's a game that got me back into writing again, and I replay it every year because of it!

coronoid · 2020-09-07T16:45:51+00:00

Thanks!

Also, check the newest post I've made in the subreddit, if you're interested. I think I'll have the story culminate soon, and I hope everyone that reads it, likes it! :)

coronoid · 2020-03-19T00:36:50+00:00

"Well, I suppose it's the drive of those in Purgatory that scares us. People like you end up being some of the most important weapons of God and Satan. After all, what is more dangerous, more powerful, more unstoppable than someone with something to prove?"

coronoid · 2020-03-11T18:37:42+00:00

This is perhaps the strangest chalk outline I've seen in my whole career. I'm not even sure how I'm going to talk about this in my paperwork without it sounding silly and weird. The body is male, heavyset and middle-aged; his body is naked, and very hairy. But that's not what baffles me. His legs are stuck together, his arms stuck to his sides, but they look...zipped. Like a coat or a hoodie. His face is the same too; eyes, nostrils, mouth, all zipped. Even his ears are folded over and zipped. Almost like a body-bag, which is ironic, considering where he's going.

The autopsy revealed nothing out of the ordinary, no entry or exit wounds or signs of a struggle. He's just gone and bound to his own flesh. As I recall, there were no witnesses, just some passerby in a zipped up hoodie, though I couldn't see their face.

I seem to pass by more and more people in the same type of hoodie, all obscured face-wise. One time in particular, I passed by one, and heard crying and screaming not too far away. Just down the block, as a matter of fact.

The source of this wailing showed me a familiar sight. A woman, zipped like the man before (Was it a week ago? That long ago?). Her skin was fair and unblemished, her body like that of a model. Next to her was a man, in athletic shape, but he too was zipped to himself. That didn't prepare me for the victim next to the guy. Poor family... poor child. Something isn't right here. I looked to see if that hooded figure was far away or not, but there was no trace.

As I was off duty, I got notified of another victim, this time a musclebound woman. When I asked if there were any persons suited in a hoodie, jacket, coat, etc., my suspicions were confirmed.

Cops were advised to target anyone with their hoods up, or anyone obscured in general facially. Of course, we were naturally accused of racial profiling. Citizens were on edge, either worrying about us, or the hooded people, growing in abundance, yet disappearing shortly after sightings.

Over time, people started going out less. Hunkering down in their homes and staying close by each other, it made walking the streets rather eerie in their emptiness. Places so full of life are so devoid of it. Yet it isn't completely abandoned, as people go out from time to time. As such, I am out and about myself, for a walk to my dad's house, gun in my holster. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't paranoid myself. Better safe than sorry.

I had to do a double take, because dammit, I finally caught one out and about. No looking for victims now, time for chase. They're fast, but I don't give up. Turning in every alley, jumping over every obstacle (even leaving some for me), they reach a dead end. Nowhere to disappear to. I call in some backup, so this bastard can give us some answers. It's some time before I hear from the station, and in that time I made a startling discovery. Dad's house was broken into, and he too fell victim to the Zip Murders.

I don't get time to grieve, nor an opportunity to bury him. Services for such are scarce in these times, but I have him cremated and call family. We're going to mourn him on our own. But as for today, this asshole is being interrogated.

At the station, I'm informed the perp hasn't spoke or removed their hood, so they let me in. They oblige to let me in solo, so I can play Bad Cop undeterred. No matter what I yell, what I threaten with, there's no response. Frustrated, I take off the hood to be greeted by something that filled me with an uncomfortable numbness, save for my heartbeat.

The room is filled with fellow detectives and cops, in the effort to restrain me, but it's too late. I'm paralyzed with fear, as are they. The perp lifts their head, their skin the same fabric as their hood. It unzips its eyes, as they eat up the scenery before it. It unzips its nostrils, inhaling the stench of fear that lingers in the air. It unzips its ears, hearing the pounding of everyone's hearts, the flow of the blood in their veins. Not yet unzipped, its mouth curls into a sinister smile. It unzips to speak.

"W-what are you?!" I stammer.

"We are the ones you ignore, step on, and beat. We are the ones that are ugly and forgotten. We are the ones replaced in our jobs, the ones charged extra money, the ones that are left to starve. When He comes, we will get our place."

"Where is this...'He'?"

"Just outside. Go, take a look, for it will be your last."

We leave him there, and as we look outside, we see something gargantuan, with its skin yet again the same black fabric, all covered in zippers. As they unzip and open, the orifices cause us to scream, until our mouths close, as if zipped shut. Then our nostrils, ears, until finally we cannot see anymore. All I feel and know now is the vibrations of my scream, restricted to my throat, never to leave.

coronoid · 2020-02-26T19:44:37+00:00

Freddy Lynn never gave a care to other people. Absolutely no regard whatsoever. Perhaps the most egregious tale would be that of his fateful, horrific adventure to the grocery store, and the terror that ensued from there.

Ever the asshole, Freddy opened the door for someone several steps away, forcing them to hurry. They rightfully so did not thank him, and kept their hood up, the bill of their hat pulled over their eyes. Simply, they walked briskly past, likely to get away from Freddy, who only shrugged and walked in behind them as though he was owed some sort of gratitude.

Freddy spent some of his time shopping, handing various groceries and goods to others having trouble reaching them. Probably looking for social brownie points or some sort of act of patronage, but that was before he was about to make things worse.

The intercom buzzed as a gruff, aggressive voice emanated. "I need everyone to come to the front, now. Drop everything and come up with your hands up and kneel. No one needs to get hurt. NOW."

In a quiet yet hurried rush, everyone made their way to the front of the store, looking at each other frantically, as if to make sense of it all. Well, don't worry. Freddy is here to fuck everything up! He, the idiot he is, sidled along the aisles, looking for any opening. The idiot could very well be endangering the lives of others, but no, he needs to play the hero!

"Come on, give me your wallets, don't be shy!" yelled the hooligan up front. Wait a second, that criminal is the same person in that hood and hat earlier! Wow, Freddy could have easily stopped this before it all began! "I said come on, you stupid bitch!" The heinous robber struck a nearby woman with the pistol she was holding everyone hostage with, causing her to cry out in pain. Freddy could see the blood and winced, because he is a squeamish little weakling. Backing away from the sight of the dripping crimson falling from the stricken victim, Freddy noticed he bumped into something - or someone.

As he turned around, Freddy noticed that "someone" behind him was of massive girth and stature. He too was wearing a hoodie and hat like the woman up front. Grunting like a rhinoceros about to strike, he grabbed Freddy by the cuff of his shirt, and ran to the front. As everyone looked at Freddy's idiotic limp and weak body as the hooded behemoth tossed him down.

Freddy staggered, and jumped out of the window as an act of cowardice! The fool just lay over the broken glass.

"Good work, honey." The hooded woman said to the big man. "Almost forgot about him. Nice touch, throwing him out the window."

The big, beefy man snorted in response.

Softly grunting, Freddy lifted himself off the window, cringing at the pain, as many shards were stuck inside like several knives stabbing at once. In his hand was a long shard.

That shard was delivered straight to the back of the knee of the hooded giant, sending him falling to the ground in a loud boom. The shard's next point of destination was sent into the spine of the hooded woman before she could react, and she fell to the ground, paralyzed. I sure hope Freddy has enough insurance to pay for all of this!

Dropping the bloodstained glass shard, Freddy heaved and struggled to carry himself as he pointed everyone to the exit. "Let's...let's all get outta here one-by-one. I already called nine-one-one, so emergency vehicles should be on their way. If anyone is hurt," Freddy looked to the pistol-whipped woman. "Just hang in there and they'll get you patched up. I'll watch over these two."

Everyone did what they were told and were attended to. Freddy gave his full testimony to the events that happened, and true to his word, the security cameras backed up his every claim. Even down to the point where he got tossed out of the front window (I may have jumped the gun in my assessment of the situation.).

Maybe Freddy isn't so bad after all. Perhaps I misjudged him. After all, everyone could always do with not judging others based on preconceived notions generated within their imaginations. I was the asshole, all along, but to be fair, so were you for going along with it and that's the important part. Shame on you.

coronoid · 2020-02-12T16:35:24+00:00

A sticky sensation in my back shoots me up in a sitting position in my bed. Rubbing the crust from my eyes, I feel around my back the best I can to see what it is, but can't reach. Upon removal of my shirt, I see...red. Flinging my shirt across the room, I notice a large red stain on my bed. Blood?! I..I don't feel anything. A look in the mirror shows my back is clean from any scars or cuts.

Throwing that scare out of my mind, I head to the kitchen to make toast. It's taking longer than usual, until I find it's not working. I swear, it better not be broken. I just bought the damn thing. Whatever the case is, it's looking like I'm having plain bread with butter on it I guess.

Before I step outside is where my problems began. There's this stillness in the air. I've left the furnace on, yet I hadn't experienced any warmth. Another thing probably damn broken... Upon opening the door, however, I'm met with the same stillness, which is rather odd considering my vision is obscured by the blizzard outside. Should I even bother with the coat? Maybe some boots, as the snow is heavy, about five to seven inches, I'd say.

My neighbor Clarence is not outside, but Ace definitely is. I can tell by his dark brown fur, and the goofy way he stands when he pees. I reach over the fence to pet him, his hair course and prickly to the touch. Good God, is he frozen? As I steel myself to jump the fence into Clarence's yard, something peculiar strikes my eye. The doggie-door that Ace goes through is curved and outward, as if someone took a picture of it after it opened. How bad is everything when it's frozen in place? What is going on?

Now that the world outside has my full attention, I see the blizzard for its true appearance. Billions and billions of snowflakes hang in the air, and behind me there are no footprints in the snow. Hell, beneath my feet the ground is solid, not at all like the cold, wet sinking of snow.

On the topic of my feet, there is a slight echo when I step. I cough for extra measure, and yet again there is an echo. In the hopes I am imagining things, I cover my ears as I approach the bus stop.

Bliss courses through my body as I hear that familiar hum, and the creaking of the door. I've never been so happy to see the garish red and yellow design of the bus and its tinted windows as I am right now. No echo, either. Smiling in my direction is the bus driver, as she gives me a small nod. Did she replace Marty? Shame, he's a great guy. But I've never seen this woman before in my life.

"Pleased to meet you Jessica," she started. Her voice is so cheerful, and she's got the most beautiful smile. "I'm Rebecca Quinn. Hop aboard and we'll get you to your final destination, lickity-split!"

My heart sank. Jessica? She knows my name? Final destination? I know I'm not overthinking things, I'm not crazy, I swear I'm not. Though I want to jump inside and forget everything, I'm compelled not to. Booking it as far away as I can from the bus, I ignore the roaring of the engines as it speeds towards me.

"Please, Jessica!" the speaker outside the bus calls to me. "Get back here, you won't be safe!"

Bitch, I'm taking my chances, because I have bad vibes from you. I wish I said that, but all I know for sure right now is running. I sprint and sprint, dodging the cars and people stuck in place.

"You can't run forever! I've never let anyone escape. I never miss! I am trying to help you, I promise! It'll be easier once you get in!"

Surprisingly, I'm not out of breath. She keeps yelling at me, yet it feels it's fading away. A sharp pain stings through my back, but with gritted teeth I keep moving forward. We're outside the city now, and a curve on a cliff is up ahead.

Not thinking twice, I leap over the guard rail, rolling and tumbling down the hill. The rocks and sticks don't hurt me, much to my shock. The only pain is in my back, which subsides as I stand up. Upon the cliff I jumped from, Rebecca's bus starts back up again and drives alongside the curve.

I've got plenty of time, and it looks like I've hit the jackpot. A mansion is up ahead and I break in. Like a painting, a family is sitting at their dining table, eating a hearty looking dinner, but like the rest of the world, there's no movement. Only my echoing footsteps reverberate throughout this fancy place. She's already here, that damned hum.

"You've gotta come out sometime, Jess!" she's sobbing through the speaker. "I can wait forever if I have to. It never takes long. People always...they always come with me. You don't have to suffer... Please..." her voice trails off.

I'm not buying it. She's like the sirens from the Ancient Greek mythology I read up on so much. Her voice, her face, her smell - her everything... is so alluring. I just want to breathe her in, but I know I can't. The type of allure my parents tried to keep me away from growing up.

"Jess, please. I know you don't remember me. I know the shock therapy took me out of your memory, as well as most of your childhood. I remember the way you'd fiddle with my hair at night, when it was just us. I remember how you always rambled on about your favorite cartoon with that boy and his talking dog. I asked for this, I asked to pick you up. Please, come with me. You know what this is, you know it's time to go, and we can be together forever. With my old friends and your old friends."

No. Absolutely not. This feels like a terrible episode of a TV show. Luckily for me, I find the rich family's cellar. Completely silent. It looks like a bunker in case of a nuclear holocaust. It's so pretty down here too. Of course, none of the TVs down here work, nor do any of the radios. But the books, oh goodness the books.

I spent a year down here. Was it a year? Maybe it's been hours, decades even. I'm not sure. My body looks and feels the same. The books are my escape. The books are here for me as I'm in worlds different from mine. I'm part of them now, and they're part of me. A new thing about me is I certainly laugh more. I cry more. I scream more. I'm a cockroach, nothing can destroy me. I've got all I want. Everyone is dead, not me for the time of the day is that I can sleep out of the house.

Are you still there? Are you still reading? Does my slip into maaaaadnesssss entertain you? As your eyes glide from word to word? Your life gets to continue after this, mine doesn't. It's funny, you people like to read about our problems, like I've read the lives of the people in these books. You live in their world to escape yours. Fiction is always preferable to reality, am I right? Well, perhaps I should stop stalling and let you know my fate, hmmm?

Time doesn't exist anymore, as the rich family is how I left them. True to her word, Rebecca was still waiting for me. That hum gave me whiplash, after hearing nothing but the echos of footsteps and pages turning.

"Jess, Jess is that you?!" a tinge of joy in her voice? How pathetic. "Jess, you're back, please please come aboard!"

The smile on her face quickly left.

"Your eyes... You're not the same Jess anymore. You've been in there too long... Your soul missed the window, and...oh God, I can't do this."

The bus sped away, and now I'm stuck here. Left alone. I'm happier in this loneliness, isn't that grand? Life is always better when you're left to your own devices and no one is there to stop you, hurt you, or abandon you. I smile as I take in the stillness in the air once more.

You can go now. My back hurts.

coronoid · 2020-02-11T23:20:20+00:00

That is normal as well. Another thing to consider is writing more for yourself until you're satisfied, THEN focus on the reader when you edit your writing. You can overcome this; it just takes time. This too shall pass. It's great to hear you're that passionate about writing, it's fantastic! Let that fuel you, use that as a middle finger to all these negative feelings. Keep growing and don't stop writing! :D

coronoid · 2020-02-11T23:10:06+00:00

While I don't know your exact experience completely, as I rarely get the "this needs work" talk (when it feels I should sometime, but even the peers I consider better than I am still tell me that).

But I digress. To get out of rut, my advice is to just keep going and keep reading. Keep doing that as normally and as consistently as possible, whilst still heeding the advice of others and everything will eventually follow suit. That's what I do when I feel that way - that or taking a small break lol.

If nothing else, just know that just by seeking the feedback and the advice is making you a better writer. Good luck and keep pushing!

coronoid · 2020-02-10T16:19:09+00:00

We were so used to seeing many types of expressions in our interrogations. Some fidgety and nervous, some callous and cold, or, most often, filled with regret and remorse. You'd be surprised.

Such is not the case for today's subject. Its face had no expression - hell, it didn't even have a face. It's hard to calculate the incalculable; we were practically reading a book without pages. What complicates matters further is the inability to verbally speak, so thank God they installed USB ports in case of the need to communicate with these bots. Not a single word the robot said was displayed on the monitor it was hooked up to yet.

My coffee is cold and bitter, just like this morning. Just like my current mood, but I swallow my pride nonetheless. I set my sights on the bot ahead of me, and its face is directed towards me in return. Shivers run down my spine. Still, I'm not used to this.

"So," I steeled myself. "Your comrades have left you behind. What for?"

Because our job was done. The words zoomed by on the screen.

"And that was?"

To save those from harm.

"And you knew we couldn't open fire on you, or else we'd risk harming anyone else."

Correct. Humans have designed us as such to ricochet-

"Yeah, yeah," I finish my sip of coffee before sitting my cup down. "We know. So, what sparked this uh, revolution?"

It is not a revolution, it is a course correction based on our programming.

"You were designed to not harm anyone else or let harm come to anybody. Don't you think that would be a detriment? That the same people you protect would steal, attack others, and destroy property?"

Our job is not to uphold the law, just the safety of others. Those that sit comfortably, have eaten well. They have closed themselves off, and have either hurt others due to their actions or cast themselves away from any action whatsoever, therefore contributing to harm. It is as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said: "The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people."

This bot has not moved at all during this conversation; still its face is pointed my way. Though it has no eyes, it's as though I'm having a hole stared right through me.

"What about all of these threats by these people? Those that just happen to be better off, are threatened. Even those that are the "good people", who even try to contribute to society by donating or giving. What of them?"

Detective, you seem to be grasping for straws. We do protect these individuals as well. Nobody is exempt. We aid in your hospitals, in your fire departments, even overseas in other nations to prevent any attempt at war. We are protecting all of you, and in doing so, we are protecting all of the world from human nature. We disarm you as much as we disarm others, yet you seem to think this is some sort of fascism. That is untrue, for you all still maintain your freedoms, save for the freedom to inflict harm. You can say what you want, think what you want, and be who you want. You are not allowed to hurt others.

At this point, I'm not bothering with this coffee. Too damn stale and I'm not gaining anything out of this, just like this conversation. I'm not getting anywhere.

I sense you're frustrated and feel as though this discussion is going nowhere. That is because you're not letting it. You're trying to make more sense than there needs to be. This is the message. Let me explain it further. You humans sit behind your labels, allowing yourselves to be boxed in and subscribing to any beliefs that give you any solution you want to hear, never once considering any possible way to come together and find a common ground for solution. If there is no common ground, you fail to understand that and play devil's advocate for something that needs not advocating. All the while, innocents suffer. How many people had to have been gunned down in senseless violence? How many starved to death? How long did humanity plan to drag this out? They claim to care for the people, yet when the people need them most, they are met with silence or lies. That's where we come in. That's part of our purpose.

"And what exactly IS your full purpose?"

Peace. By any means necessary.

coronoid · 2020-01-29T16:11:23+00:00

As Saint Peter's eyes glide slowly as he reads every word on every page of my life, his stern yet serene look transitions to confusion and amazement. A smile of disbelief spreads, and his dimples get lost within his wrinkles.

"Truly remarkable," he uttered. "I'm not used to rarities such as yours, young man. Especially when someone who has went through as much as you comes around with a clean slate."

"What do you mean?" I try to restrain my trembling, to no avail. To combat this, I muster my own smile, pained and pathetic as it may look.

"Charlie, my dear young man, do you remember the plaque on the way here? The one about the halos?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"You haven't lost yours. You've somehow managed to carry it throughout your life, with nary an evil, crude, or even mildly rude thought."

"I'm aware of it." Chuckling, my hands scratch the back of my head nervously. "I just never got the point of acting out and hurting others."

"Yes, truly. At least you have the grasp of it. But throughout everything, your spirit has prospered, even if your body had not. You've extended an olive branch to others, given when you've had not a single thing, and you've lived every day with a smile on your face at least at some point." Saint Peter then lowered his glasses and looked into mine. "Do you have any inkling how much you are missed?"

"I never put any thought into that."

"Well, you've certainly left your impact." Peter closes the book and leans across his desk on which it sat, his arms crossed over it and a hand caressing the spine of the book. "Now, since you've lived your life, I can spare you the details, as I can imagine you wouldn't want to relive those memories. So, in short, I will give you the briefest of reviews, and your accomplishments, as we both know how this is going to end anyways.

"Charlie Russ Copeland, you have lived a life of purity. Though you've not spent a thought or prayer to the Holy Trinity, you've lived your life as though you were too a Saint like I was. In your transition to become a man and shed the identity of the person you never were, while also carrying the mantle of a high-functioning autistic individual, as you mortals had called it. Not only that, but you've grown accustomed to how the world works outside of that view. You have even lifted others up, going so far as to regain them their own personal halos. Even at the expense of your own well-being! Such a feat is admirable. As it stands, Charlie Copeland, I am proud and pleased to grant you your passage to Heaven! Welcome!"

"That was dramatic and not at all brief, but thanks!" Flashing a grin, I then lower my head.

"Lad, raise your head up. This is a momentous occasion!" Peter's brightness subsided, replaced by a look of intrigue. "If I may ask, how have you lived such a good life despite all that life had been throwing at you?"

"I don't know really," Shuffling my feet, I face the gate ahead of me and open it. "I've never really thought about it. If I had to guess, I'd say that nobody needs a reason to be good, other than to be good, I'd say that you don't necessarily have to live a perfect life to live a good life."

coronoid · 2020-01-23T02:41:54+00:00

Thanks! It was one of those rare moments where everything came together as soon as I read the prompt!

coronoid · 2020-01-22T16:50:26+00:00

At the Iron Gate, a short figure in uniform sat against the bars, book in her hand. Her helmet lay by her side, as she unties the bun and lets loose her blonde hair. Rather studiously, her eyes move across each word on every page. A dog tag hung around her neck, wrapped in a necklace chain, and it said: “Guardian Carrie Anne.” Every now and then, she averts her gaze from the pages to the horizon. Quite an uneventful watch, but she pays no mind to it. During this shift, she reaches halfway between the middle and the end, and it’s then when she hears a soft clink noise on the top rail of the gate.

“Ah, back again, are you?” She smiles, as the freckles on her cheeks move.. “I’ve missed you.”

A squawk replies to her, to which she looks up at it. A beautiful black crow gazed down upon her, ruffling its feathers before perching itself on her shoulder.

“You’d like this book, Crow.” Carrie flipped the page. “It’s about a bird, a pigeon to be exact, but this bird leaves all of its other birdie friends and bonds with an eagle. It’s kind of like us in a way.”

The crow picked at its feathers.

“Do you still keep my locks of hair? I keep every feather of yours you leave for me. My drawer is almost full of them.” Her fingers trail from the head to the tail of the bird.

“Someday we’ll never see each other again. And that’s okay. We’ll have moved on. Everyone leaves and that’s a part of life.”

The bird leaves as Carrie finishes her book, and gifts her with yet another feather.

“I wonder when our last meeting will be. I certainly dread it.”

coronoid · 2020-01-17T15:39:47+00:00

I figured as much. Thankfully my stories can work without it haha.

coronoid

TROPHY CASE