Melting Ice Cream Cones: a Short Story

Sometimes, it feels like radio-silence.
Sometimes, it feels like voices are screaming at you from every direction.

Depression is a bitch. When you're an oxygen-inhaling, resource-consuming, space-taking, food-ingesting machine that does not serve any purpose for the greater good of society other than preserving one's own biological self, then what is there to life?

Isabela Christie is chronically sad, living in a hamster wheel of cynicism for almost four years. But in the grand scheme of the universe, the mechanics of the game is yet to be changed-by a boy with a wide smile and one and a half-set of arms.

A dying girl.

A dying boy.

And strawberry-flavored ice cream on a wafer cone.