I'm very busy, but I tried to write this because it's my to-do list. Have to.
Actually, I was inspired to write this when I remembered the song: Fix You by Coldplay.
Could it be worse~
He-he . . . XD
IT LOOKED so weird.
Dusty's house was looking so clean as usual—Chug tell them. Anything was putting as the right place—books, cans of oils, the miniatures of air racers: Ripslinger, Ishani, and the other else, photos—and no one that fell to the dirty ground.
"It's all good," Chug said, "and no one's bad."
"Good means bad," James said.
"Whaddya mean?"
"Look at this place. It looks like nothing happened, right? But, if you think that, you wrong—something had happened, but the arsonist is very smart. It can clear the trace for hide a few, or many, of the clues, of course."
"It?"
"I still don't know who the arsonist is: man or woman, so I call it as 'it'."
"Hmm," Chug cleared his throat, at the same time he nodded.
"Take photo of it, Dash. We'll find the clue after that."
"Roger that, James."
.
.
.
Could it be worse?
She still looked at it. The plane still didn't do anything—just reserved. Although she had lost its duct tape from its mouth, it was still quiet as a statue. No breath that she heard. No heartbeat.
Could it be worse?
Those three words—let me life—patched to her mind. She understood, of course, but she didn't know what to do. Despite she placed it to the fireplace, it didn't working. Was her doing a wrong thing?
Could it be worse?
Is it alive?, she asked to her mind, starts to impugn those three words as the truth that it'd been dead.
Could it be . . . worse?[]