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Weekly Contest #347
“Miranda,” Dillon breathed. “What has it done to you?” He ran a hand hovering over his daughter, the pallid skin of her arm, the bruises. “They came earlier this morning while you were out. Dillon, they said there's not much anyone can do at this point.” Dillon swore. “For all the advances in this supposedly great city, in such an advanced place how is it that there’s no beggin’ cure damn it! I swear they’d make me find one myself.” His wife put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry” “What is there to do? There has to be something to ...
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