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It wasn’t the being too terrified to move, nor my horribly dry throat, nor my cramping muscles, nor that I’ve been holding back a serious need to urinate for the past four hours.  It was the itching.  The terrible itching.  The kind of itching and irritation that comes from pink...

Krista couldn’t believe what she was seeing.  Two legs sticking out of a dumpster, not just any dumpster, her dumpster.  What was this fool doing in her dumpster? She grabs an ankle, pulling back hard, hearing a muffled curse from inside the confines of the dumpster as the poor person...