I cut my hair, watching it fall to the floor gave me a twisted satisfaction I cannot deny.
It's short, so short that when I look at myself I finally see myself , not the girl I once was. The girl that grew up from pain as if it was the only thing she knew.
That person is gone, I've buried her and the body is decomposing whether I want it to or not. I want it to. My hair was a reminder of everything that had gone wrong, that had turned on me and made me feel like I was nothing.
I am something. Most definitely, I am something, someone, that has shed the skin of their old life like a snake.
I'm hoping all the memories of my past would just fly away, never come back but alas, that is not how memories work.
The vow that I could not obtain and hold to the highest of truths
The liars that have not yet been exposed and are still waiting anxiously for the truth to be revealed
The innocent people that have thoughts of murder and chaos on their minds
The lost people who need to stop waiting for someone to rescue them
And yet, I fit into none of those categories. Or do I?
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories
ContoConfusion is good for the mind. Try to figure out what each of these stories mean. Hint: they all have more than one meaning
