It's motivated by my fear. It has a clear purpose unlike the rest of my meekly body that shivers not knowing where to concentrate its energy. Energy which has only returned to my existence now that I'm aware it might end soon. If only I just keep writing. I isolate my arm from my body's involuntary movement as I try to keep it steady and my writing as small as possible. I don't want to run out of space. Wait, what does that matter anyway. I can keep writing over and over, making these sheets illegible. It's not like anybody is going to read this. Even if I make it out of here I wouldn't want anyone to read you. You're my lowest point made comprehensible.
YOU ARE READING
If_only_I_were_real.
Short StoryEverything seems so simple in the most complicated of ways. At this hour the dark only contains monsters of your own creation yet you feel at peace with them. It is no longer only their home, you feel welcomed here too.
