108 - Falling, White, Like Death
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Those white… flakes, they fall down. On this winter night, this cold, cold winter night, the White drifts gently down to blanket me. Each inhalation of it burns my insides worse, cuts me like icy glass. And he looks down. It looks down, white too. No face, though I know it’s saying ‘I tried to warn you.’ --Written by Anthony Botelho. Support The Wrong Station by subscribing at www.patreon.com/thewrongstation. The Wrong Station contains explicit content and mature themes. Episode-specific warnings can be found at www.wrongstation.com/c-w.
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