I have been lending my helping hand for young writer on his brain-celling scrambling Freehand Drawing plates. Some of them, they are supposed to be passed already, but good thing for my friend that his mentor has a heart of gold.
Though his mentor is one considerate folk, fat pig is so demanding about the quality of the illustrations. When I get to meet him face-to-face, I will stab his eyes with pencils and clog his throat with kneaded eraser. I am really longing for that king-sized bed with soft, squishy pillows, the ventilated atmosphere, and that moonlight beneath the window.
But Hellbound doesn’t rest for Dear Friend. Must fight, get through this just like what I always do during killing sprees.
No, rest. No, rest.