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Weekly Contest #349
“I’m astounded to see us wanting to stay on this badly when there is no future for us here,” she whispered across the table, her chin resting in her palms, her elbows carrying the weight of her exhausted head. A limp paper straw hung indeterminately from her lower lip, harmonising with the defeated timbre to her gaze. Her tongue was covered in a taste of blended hay, only more bitter. Among a long list of regrets she had, one was how she had been in her matcha phase at the time everything fell apart. The consequence of this seemed to be that...
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