torrt msm

They scoured the underground rooms and corridors, searching for Reiss. Noah checked the waiting and recovery rooms, eventually finding the man’s belt. He wouldn’t leave it behind if he had simply quit the tournament. He spotted a puddle of wine on the floor nearby, but no cup. Noah sniffed the wine and tasted a small drop, feeling his tongue burn. He looked around and noticed a broom closet with broken doorknob. Noah pried it open with his sword, and out fell Reiss’s corpse.“Of course,” Noah muttered.

“But I CAN’T make up for what I’ve done, don’t you understand? I can’t bring back the people I’ve killed. I can’t heal the people I’ve hurt. I can’t undo the damage I’ve wrought. One lifetime is not enough to properly repent for my sins, so why bother living? Maybe N-N-N-N… he… should have just killed me. I don’t deserve to live for what I’ve done. He said he would take everything from me, every sensation I can enjoy, every thought and feeling that makes me who I am, my hopes and dreams. He was right, it took it all, but he let me keep me life. I wish he hadn’t. I don’t deserve it.”

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.