He woke up. He was moving down. He banged his fists on the roof.
“Damn you!” he screamed. “Damn you!”
He fumbled in his pocket, found a matchbox, flicked out a match and struck it.
His vision blurred. He drew what air he could into his lungs.
Above him, in red felt-tip pen. ‘Tight arse couldn’t buy me a fancy coffin’.
Then sleep.
Eat our books: amzn.to/2hMVmVy
Sponsor our Patreon: patreon.com/littlefears
Lick our course: skillshare.com
Drink our art prints & tees: littlefears.threadless.com
Little Fears 
Quite the journey.
LikeLike
Short n sweet. o.o
LikeLike
Oh now he’s DEAD asleep
LikeLike
Mmmhmm. o.o
LikeLike
YES.
LikeLike
Heh, yup. 🙂
LikeLike
Nice.
LikeLike
Thank you. 🙂
LikeLike