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Weekly Contest #283
Content warning: This story contains themes of grief and self-harm.My brittle bones tremble as I trudge through the cold chill of the supposed summer which never seems to form. My hands cling to the warmth of my pockets and my heart thumps along as I breathe in shaky gulps of air. It was supposed to be a dry summer. The kind of summer which you feel deep within your soul. That you taste in the strawberries that stain your skin and teeth. The kind of summer where you could meet someone and fall down the rabbit hole of the back seat of their c...
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