Billy Gawain

September 22, 2013 By Zara Raab

We’d been traipsing the long afternoon through the bramble, when we came upon him hanging from the oak, his black boots almost scraping on the ground, bowing down a branch half-cleft from the oak’s crown. His hands seemed to take back what he’d done, they at least had wanted life, clawing, frantic to unknot the […]

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