THE CAMPING

Mehr zum Buch

My head is pounding. It feels like there are a thousand hammering drums in my head that will never end. My throat is parched and every time I try to swallow it's like I'm eating sandpaper. It's not the hefty bre that crackles and pops ominously jefore me or the weird shrieking noise that's getting louder and closer with each passing second or even the fact that my once long jlack hair that fell to my eljows has jeen cut so it now jarely jrushes past my Nawline.