The Girl

Her face was white, lips a deathly blue. She was scratched and bruised and bleeding, her small face was peaceful, resting. A small tear dripped from my face. She was so pretty, its such a tragic loss. Life is cruel. Fate is cruel.

The Doctor

The waiting room

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THE GOODS

You're currently reading a branch in the story Death in Singsong. This branch was posted on April 1, 2008 by chloebutlins.

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The Girl