curbside confessions

God Laxago. the man cries, a hoarse growl punctuating the sentence in an expression of his growing frustration. Weakness would no longer draw pity from him. Such a sorrowful show would not win back the man who had learned to value himself so much more. Just. Stay. I've made you a den already anyhow. He begins to approach her with a sure-footed but slow stride. Eyeing her physical ailment impatiently. With more irritation than concern. I'm not a cruel man... he would state, eyes leisurely rolling towards the backdrop of redwoods behind her, relinquishing her, finally, from their merciless grasp. But I'm not a stupid one either. he would mumble as he overtook her and then drew forward of her. His intended direction being the small den which he had scratched out for the woman beneath the roots of an ancient redwood. Come. the word would cling heavily to that frigid air. The vapor of his hot breath white and lingering in all that black.