{Eleven}
My thoughts are destroying me.
I try not to think but the silence is a killer too.
Adding yet another folded piece of paper to the collection, I put the box away. Maybe one day you will read them.
''When will you be back? I hope tomorrow,
yesterday would have been better.'' I end the sentence with a scoff, anger starting to boil in through my veins. I pick up my glass I left at the counter, I drink it, it drops, glass shatters on the floor.
''I saw on the news things were getting better, that they are a lot of survivors left. So, I hope for your beautiful ass that your alive, if not I will personally drag you from the field make you alive again just to kill you.'' Maybe I said that too loud and too mad, but it felt right.
I grab a piece of the fallen glass, the edges so sharp they cut right through my fingers. Small drops of red blood come to surface as I press harder, more red, more pain. Its revealing.
A swift motion across my arm, a flow of blood makes its way down to my left hand. Beautiful.
Your favourite colour is red, you would have thought the same.
But do not worry, I am fine, I just like the pain it causes and the blood it leaves behind. It makes me feel something else that lost.
YOU ARE READING
I need you here, why are you not here? If you're not here, where are you?
Короткий рассказ''I keep telling myself you are not a villain; you are just a boy. But somehow, I am always wrong. Cause you are a villain, you stole my heart and left with it.'' -Chapter Six TW: SH Alcholism Depression
