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Weekly Contest #375
By Craig Kelly Kyle has neighbors, technically. Laughter through the vents. Pans. The same three songs down the hall, never quite loud enough to complain about. There is life in the building. Just not in his unit. The blinds stay mostly closed. The kitchen light hums and blinks when it wants to. The air smells of dishes rinsed and not washed. The apartment used to feel small. Now it feels like a church after everyone has gone home. Just the chairs. Just the air. He was not always like this, and he hates how everyone says that like it matter...
God, are you there? It’s me... I don’t know if you’re listening. Or if anyone is. Maybe I just want to believe someone’s out there—watching, waiting—like some cosmic joke. Or maybe I’ve lost my mind, talking to shadows and ghosts. But I need to get this out. Writing it down makes the silence feel less suffocating. I've always found trouble, or maybe it found me. Since I was a kid, pain's been a companion. I remember the first time I bled from a real fight—blood mixing with dirt, my head ringing with screams I can still hear. At fourteen, I g...
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