She couldn’t die. After all, she was the only one left who remembered Jana Jelínková’s smile and Lud
She couldn’t die. After all, she was the only one left who remembered Jana Jelínková’s smile and Ludomir Kučera’s snoring. The only one to remember that Matyáš Veselý hated cheese and loved to listen to the birds sing in the morning. That Cecílie Gregorová had cried when her arthritis got so bad she could no longer pick up her knitting needles. That Martin Brož and Ambrož Macháček had been inseparable from the time they were children and that Irena Mikešová had stared in green envy. Her body had become a temple to the memory of Zadov. If she died, where did they go? So she forced herself to get up and put food in her body. To look both ways before crossing the street. To stay away from tall buildings and dangerous men. She forced herself to live, no matter how clawing the emptiness inside her became, because they deserved to be remembered.ive been gone for a little bit so have a snippet!!!taglist: @ravens-and-rivers @kraljevna @alternativeforensicscientist @selkiewriting @naowei-codex @klywrites @furysreign @vesrayn @bijouxs @svlipsisms @ryns-ramblings @elizahgodswood @ofbloodandflowers @chloeswords @isherwoodj @avi-burton-writing @pamsdrabbles @ryns-ramblings @kitblogsthings @writerlywonders @bookphobe @alicewestwater @thelittlestspider @livvywrites -- source link
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