She sits around holding back tears with a lump in her throat as she finishes the last paragraph she's posting for tonight. It reads very lengthy with repeated lines over and over again screaming at how depressed she is.
Of course she knows the outcome. They will comment on it, try to get a hold of her to make her smile. Only, those who have been there long enough will just carry on.
They know what she is.
She's addicted to her own sadness. She needs the attention to make her feel whole. Those who comment advice and try to help waste breath. She doesn't want the help.
They watch her drown willingly, unable to help herself by grabbing one of the hundreds of hands extended for her. Only because she doesn't care.
She'll post and post until time runs out, showing her pain for the world to see. They'll watch her kill herself slowly, having given up. There was nothing else for them to do
She's an addict with the WiFi password.
You can't save her if she doesn't want it.
YOU ARE READING
Fractured Thoughts
Short Story(VERY PROMINENT TRIGGER WARNING. TOPICS DISCUSSED IN HERE COULD POSSIBLY BE VERY TOXIC. READ AT YOUR OWN WILL.) From the mass of my brain, things tend to come up from moments of darkness. This brings out the inspiration for writing and therefore, th...
