I still managed to win, like I always do, even after that riot of a round where I got the letters mixed up and in a fit of giggles answered “fish” for all twelve categories. You both still swear to this day that I was drunk but it would take a lot more than one glass of sangria to knock me over, boys.
I’ve got one up on you.
We might have turning away in common
But there’s no fish
To come swallow me.
So in my story,
I’m just a runaway.
AN: dedicated to anyone running from things that haunt them