Blood Letter

Blood Letter

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Sep 16, 2018
"Could you imagine a world where we're all ranked based off of something as unimportant as blood? Sure it's more to do with what's in our blood; but at the end of the day it's still just judgment on something you were born with, something you have no control over." Pat Robertson, 'inspirational' speaker. He sure speaks a lot but I don't find him inspirational at all....... .....Evan got up and ran once again, completely forgetting his phone on the ground in a desperate sprint to reach his home, to talk to his mother. The fact that his mother wasn't home didn't get to reach his mind, neither the fact that there were people who saw everything that just happened; No Evan wouldn't get to realize any of this before his world suddenly became red. --- Hey there, I really hope you give this a chance. It came from my other book 'Book of Averageness' https://my.w.tt/Bg63VAQkfQ After some positive feedback I've made it it's own book.
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magicpowers
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(TWs: gore, abuse, sexual abuse, cursing) Why does he still breathe? Why is he kept alive in this shadowed purgatory where time has no meaning, and screams are swallowed by the walls? His cell is a cage, his life a cruel experiment, and his mind a battlefield. Questions claw at him relentlessly: Who is he? What is he? Why does this torment exist? The walls bleed stories of others-lost souls whose cries still linger, haunting the air. His own voice has grown hoarse from endless screams, his body a canvas of scars, a map of suffering that tells no answers, only pain. Every day is a ritual of degradation, where faceless captors toy with his humanity, stripping him of it piece by agonizing piece. The only constant is the endless cycle of questions. Why him? Why the torture? What is their purpose? He clings to the faintest memories of a time before-fleeting images of warmth, love, a face he cannot quite recall. But even those are slipping away, devoured by the void growing inside him. In this relentless, suffocating darkness, where hope is a distant memory, only one question remains: When will the game end, and what will be left of him when it does?

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