He hears that it's been SIX months. SIX months since the girl stopped talking. SIX months since he parents died. SIX months since they were killed.
The poor man is working hard.
Hard to fix her?
Hard to break her.
This brings him closer to me.
I see the bags forming under his eyes.
I feel the stress, seeping into his soul.
I sense the lack of sleep
The increased nicotine.
I do not do this over any hard feelings. I have to. There is no choice. I saved the girl, she needed a trade.
He brings himself closer. Closer with every sip of coffee, every sleepless night, every drag of his cigarette.
Closer.
Closer to me.
Closer.
Closer to death.
YOU ARE READING
Silent
RandomHer parents are dead, and now she doesn't speak. He wants to push her, but how far, and why?
