Date: 2008-01-28 03:02 am (UTC)
watchmakers_son: (this isn't anger)
When he looks up at the lights, three snowflakes land on his forehead, the cold bite stinging sharp. He tries to shake them loose.

When he looks at his mother, and sees

(Nothing.)

the ashy pallor to her face, the spot just beneath his heart knots up and pulls tight.

"Mom -- "
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Gabriel Gray

November 2010

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