Lying is an addiction

Lying is an addiction

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, May 16, 2022
The woman laying down on earth thinking the same, inhaling dust like oxygen, earth is sandpaper for her skin. Her skirt is torn, just a piece of cloth left for her to save her modesty in front of the whole village, hair open and wild, eyes deep and speculative, wandering around in the sea of people, finding so many familiar faces but not one welcoming. Several pairs of eyes are on her, some are looking with sympathy, some with lust and some with disgust. But not from apathy, only things she wants from the world, but is not allowed to get. •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• This was intended to be entry for a short story competition. But due to my habit of procrastination, I have missed deadline.
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Moments; singular, siphoned, like grains of sand which fall restlessly, and build without limits...growing with increasing momentum, each step, beat, a steady staccato , marking down the minutes until the cold inevitability of the ...end ...death. Moments...it's all anyone has. Life is a false illusion. Death is cold reality. I am a Treader. I deal in the currency of death, and I know everything there is to know about it's cold worth. I am useful, never loved. I am used, never thanked. I am need, want, and lust....but never needed or wanted. I am never fulfilled. I am never to know human happiness. I have accepted my designed fate. Why then am I being tested now?? What will happen if I give in to the temptation I know will be my undoing? What will happen if I give in...and love? What will my failure bring...and may those above and below have mercy on all souls, for when the Treader of death falls for life... Worlds End. RH*Mature Content*Advisable only for 18 and over

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