The Wall Toome

his persona faltered for a bleak moment when the ball of spit grazed the top of his foot. faust narrowed his eyes, but had made no move to clean it from his paw. let it stay, a futile reminder of her arrogance, as well as his own. if there was one thing he'd be sincere about, it'd be his attitude.

or fuckin' die. he shrugged. but she didn't relent. why? could her life truly mean that little than accepting she's wrong? accepting his help, though the shrouded paw he had thought of outstretching was drenched in her drool.

shit.

with a distasteful snarl, he himself was bested by the game of egos. embarrassing, toilsome. with the same paw that she spat on, he lowered himself down to the ridge he lingered upon. flat plateau. not a steeping ridge that invited the smile of death.

you made your point. grab on?