Bad Camilla. Stop writing new stories before you finish the old ones.
.:xXx:.
I watched from the window, the shotgun in my arms. The weight wad physically bearable, but the emotional baggage was about to crake my tough girl mask. "When will he get back?" John was never this late. Then I heard it, the horrendous cry of the Real World. Oh fuck. This is going to be a long night.
.:xXx:.
Yay prologues! Please review!