مانیکا گلر
تهران
سه هفته پیش اینجا بوده
16 آذر 1403
1 نفر این آیتم رو دوست داشتن
The DRY
It wasn't as though the farm hadn't seen death before, and the blowflies didn't discriminate. To them there was little difference between a carcass and a corpse.
The drought had left the flies spoiled for choice that summer. They sought out unblinking eyes and sticky wounds as the farmers of Kiewarra leveled their rifles at skinny livestock. No rain meant no feed.
And no feed made for difficult decisions as the tiny town shimmered under day after day of burning blue sky.
با جلد شومیز و کاغذ کاهی
اولین نفر نظرتو بذار
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