I did it. We talked. We sat. We ate. Gossip. Perfection. Barbie. Fake. Bubbly. Plastic. We are plastic. Dolls. We get used, then they throw us out. That's how it works. When you become perfect, you get used. No freedom. But perfection. Tears slip from my burning eyes and I feel happy again. Used.
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Finally Broken
Short StoryThe noises used to make me feel happy. Happiness is nostalgic to me, and now the noises sound like screams, bombs being set off right next to me. Cries of pain, sobbing. Then, silence. The silence hurts the most, and then I feel numb. I feel no pain...
