Everest
"Cock-a-cola-lavicular." Ever corrects in a voice that sounds both sing-songy, and also like he's underwater. Turning, his gown open in the back, what Mateo says doesn't immediately make its way into Ever's mind. Instead, the words dart about like bouncy balls, and there are far too many of them to try and catch. Or should he be juggling them? "But...who will make the bed after they're washed?" He mewls, clutching the sheet in his good hand. "Should I come back? Or stay until they're ready? My mom always said you should make your bed." Looking from the bed to Mateo and finally the bag, Everest tilts his head.
"I..don't think I'll fit in there." He says of the bag, his blue eyes large and doe-like given how blown out his pupils are.
"I..don't think I'll fit in there." He says of the bag, his blue eyes large and doe-like given how blown out his pupils are.
I was a dead man walking,
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
with bloodshot eyes—right place, wrong time.
