The dissapearred
The door of the house, beaten and open, hung askew, letting in the elements. Crude red-painted slogans of hate had dripped down forming blood-like droplets on the tile floor of the foyer. November’s dead leaves scuttled through the opening with the wind.
In the main room, an empty bookcase lay on its side, stripped of knowledge and dissent. A...
In the main room, an empty bookcase lay on its side, stripped of knowledge and dissent. A...