I am one of those people who believe that scars are beautiful, that tell your story though skin 'imperfection'. The ones on my knees from bike wrecks, the little cuts around my wrists from my old depressed self, and the one on my leg from me falling down the steps.
Have you ever seen someone step out of a limo, cash barely fitting in their purse, holding a poodle as they walk the red carpet; full of scars up and down their arms and legs? No.
Have you ever seen a stranger walk out of a bar, full of cuts and bruises. Yes.
You can see a story form. People are forming unreal people, kids want to be them. They want to be impossibly skinny, stunningly breathtaking. They want to be perfect. They want to be tall, skinny, beautiful. Just like that.
They think harming themselves helps. They think that losing themselves in a pool of blood will make them perfect.
The reason you don't see these people, is because these were the kids who were good at playing hide and seek, now play the well-known game under their sleeves or under their pants. They hide their tears so well, people think they're okay. When in reality, you see these people all the time.
And now, in this book you will meet several games of hide and seek. You will find the hiders, and the seekers.
Wanna play?
A.N.
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You must be following me
It must be at least 150 words
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My Last Day
General FictionA pile of short stories for the broken, ironically put together.