100 Ghosts: Sloth
Not a Damn Thing
Sam, G
100 Ghosts: Sloth
The spring was just forming, rising up from the silent cover of winter. The Impala rumbles happily down a long stretch of highway.
In the front seat, John and Dean argue light heartedly, Sam turning up his battered old walkman to drown them out, this uncommon show of amiability pissing him off.
Yeah, the last hunt had been a good one, but the inertia of his adolescence was settling slowly back in.
He could feel it in his skin, his mouth felt heavy, like he might never speak again, not latin exorcism rites, not ordinary talk, not a damn thing.
Sam, G
100 Ghosts: Sloth
The spring was just forming, rising up from the silent cover of winter. The Impala rumbles happily down a long stretch of highway.
In the front seat, John and Dean argue light heartedly, Sam turning up his battered old walkman to drown them out, this uncommon show of amiability pissing him off.
Yeah, the last hunt had been a good one, but the inertia of his adolescence was settling slowly back in.
He could feel it in his skin, his mouth felt heavy, like he might never speak again, not latin exorcism rites, not ordinary talk, not a damn thing.