by P.H. Wells
We’ve all heard about the poor old camel, the one in the full-body cast. The last straw broke his back… didn’t it?
What makes the last straw the offending straw? Sure, that final ounce tips the balance. Everything is fine, or at least manageable, until one more feather, one more word, one more tick, cannot be borne. Boom!
Yeah, there’s some fun in that. I enjoy hell breaking loose as much as the next person. But what really interests me is the primordial chowder of burdens and happenstance and desire. I’m looking for the place where what meets if and rise meets shine.
The story begins here.
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