"We can run away." I firmly stated as the backpack hung over my shoulder. "We can get away from hell. There has to be a door in hell that allows us to travel to wonderland. A place where we choose our fate."
She laughed, "no matter where you go, no matter where you run away if you look back, you'll see the misery running after you. We're never alone. We always have our bitter sorrows skipping behind us."
"You make life sound so awful like that." I fell against the wall and crossed my legs. She sat down next to me and opened up my backpack. Socks. Water. A few bucks. A journal.
"You can chase away the bitter sorrows by drowning them. With words. It's not like they will learn how to swim. Not if you let them." She placed the edges of my palms against the journal and got up.
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
