She lied. It was all a lie. A perfect lie. She used me. I was not perfect anymore. I had this small hole. A hole of imperfection. Imperfection created me. Imperfection filled me.
My thoughts. My mind. My body. Myself. I was just a puppet, she, my operator. The master puppeteer. I was just a silly little show. It ate away at me. Just an act.
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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...
