NATHAN ALEX YOUNG
Sometimes you find your muse in the form of madness.
This thought writhed inside Hollace Knox’s head, right alongside a whiskey hangover. The sun kissed the edges of his curtains. It was just annoying enough to spur him into pulling the covers over his head. A child's move. Hollace was only several hours removed from a beautiful night that ended in what, if only poetically, could be called a tragedy. He felt sick by not knowing what to do.
Only in town for a few days, was his friend, Aislee Marie Anson. The two had met six years before, while working at a corporate gym. The type of place where men grunted fierce