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Weekly Contest #303
I’m scared. I’m scared of what I’ve become. The crimson substance dripping down my torn straitjacket is cold, and my hand is trembling with the knife still enclosed within my fingers. The sharp blade appeals to my neck, calling to it. Attracting it like a magnet. I want to relieve this pain. The psychological pain that’s been tormenting me for so long. I’m not sure my mind can handle this any longer. This blood isn’t mine. This knife isn’t mine. “Don’t let him out,” they said. “We all know what’ll happen,” they said. Well, it turns out they ...
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