Dull
Dull short-story stories
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witchener
witchenerJust a pessimist.
Autoplay OFF  •  10 months ago
His heart was too big. And he succumbed.

Dull

by witchener

I shattered the mirror in my room last night. They're gone now, I'm sure of it. I'm sure! I wouldn't have to bear the taunting, cynical utters that they bore into my ears anymore. They're gone.

Whether my desperate attempts to draw in a breath was of dread or excitement, I couldn't tell. Jagged glass remnants remained wedged between the frames of where the mirrror was, but no matter.

It felt unbelievable— surreal. Why haven't I done that earlier? My feet trudged towards my bed, an exasperated sigh tumbling out. But yet I couldn't breathe, choking and suffocated.

But I was such a fool for believing that they left this easily.

A mirror was merely but one way they tormented me with.

I saw one of them by the peripheral of my eye. And "They" . . . were pleased to see me again tonight. I know what they wanted. I couldn't do it. And they knew that as well. I threw them away.

They murmured, incoherent words that plunged into my ears. I couldn't hear but my erratic heartbeat. I was clawing to grab the shards of glass splattered on the floor. They simply urged me.

I didn't want to. . . God, help me. . .

I sobbed, the shard digging against my skin. I didn't dare to cut. "Go on." I despised their soft voice. Nothing could help me, no one was there. I held on so tight, it felt dull to the touch.

Perhaps, my biggest mistake was that I thought that I could escape. Because how could you, when they lived— when they thrived right inside you?

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