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Weekly Contest #377
Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide, self-harm, and severe panic attacks. The first two times I died, death was nothing. Hope asks what death was like, the answer causing a flicker: a sudden bleed that consumes her with fear as I describe what I see. A blank slate within unyielding endless darkness, in other words it was nothing. The third had me yearning to turn back the clock. Nothing was the bridge and how I wish to still be blind. Now a blue eyed vaguely familiar child stares down at me from where she kneels, “Where am I?” The child's m...
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