ritamosquita

Dean sat slumped against the hollow of an old redwood, his jagged blade resting lightly on his thigh. The last of the night’s shadows dulled as the sunlight filtered through the trees. Dean rolled his shoulders as he rubbed his eyes. He could feel the grime and dirt on his face and hands, but it wasn’t abnormal, not surprising in the least. It wasn’t his first week in purgatory. He’d gotten used to the sparse showers and sparser food. He’d been in purgatory for close to four months, though he’d never bothered to count the days. At first, it hadn’t even occurred to him that knowing the length of time