I look slightly more at the shadowed figure. It isn't only a shadow... it can't be mine at least. Mrs. Smith still has her hand up and gently smiling, making herself more comfortable for... "me". I start opening my bag, and I take out the stuffed bunny and squeeze it for support... I yet again close my bag, holding it tighter towards me. Mrs. Smith now says: "Come down sweety, it's dangerous"
I shake my head and look at the shadowed figure once again. It stopped when I said that... Who ever that is... wants me to go out... I walk closer and closer to the fence and say: "I am tired of this hell. You take everyone that I've ever loved away from me" I look directly at Mrs. Smith and scream: "THIS FUCKING TRADITION ISN'T A DAMN TRADITION!!!"
Mrs. Smith looks frustrated and responds: "Young lady, you better come down right this second", I shake my head and say with a smile: "You don't control me, or anyone anymore. I am my own person, and I won't let you take that away from me. I... we want to live. We want to experience, and experiencing things by jumping or killing, isn't the solution".
Mrs. Smith shakes her head raptly, and says: "Dying is the solution, Asha. This is a tradition"
"Not my damn tradition"
I take the leap over the fence...
YOU ARE READING
The lost
Short StoryThis is a story about a girl named Asha. Her parents died at the age of 10, she was sent to the orphanage... But this orphanage had something strange. A tradition. "What kind of tradition", You'll soon find out... (TW: This story has brief mentions...
