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Weekly Contest #51
[TW: mentions of suicide and self harm] “You know,” she said, leaning over from her seat on the white leather chair. “It’s not your fault.” A lie. Typical, really. I mean it was her job, being a therapist and all. Because that’s all they really did. Tell fragrant and flowery lies to convince people that what they do has no consequences on other people. But it was my fault. All of it. Every single warning sign, every single joke I didn’t take seriously. I might as well have been the one who killed him. “S...
Weekly Contest #32
Memory was my Gift. We all had one— gifts, I mean, but mine was on the rarer side. As far as I knew, I was the only person in the whole world who had it. It made me feel special, and needed, but in the end I had grown to hate it. You see, when my parents found out what my Gift was, they had hatched a plan to make it suit their own goal, and it turned out their goal was money. So they spent what little savings they had on a tiny little building on Main Street, and set up shop. “Marie’s Memory shoppe,” they said, tricking my naive little ...
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