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Dear Readers,

You should have already begun to recognise a pattern in my work and that I have a penchant for a few specific genres. I write these because I find them most interesting; the characters, the plot, the language, the scenes...

They all weave perfectly together to create an abstract vision that kind of gives you a glimpse into my strange mind.

Anyway, my latest piece is inspired by the Farnham Flash Festival 2018, which I have submitted this to. Please do have a read, if you dare and let me know your thoughts, as usual!


As I lay there, though my eyes are closed, I can see you. You recoil at the bite of my icy cold skin. It upsets me, but I understand - you’re not used to seeing me like this. In this state.

A tear rolls down your flushed cheek, but you’re too focussed on me to notice. I wish I could wipe it away for you. I see you’re wearing the dress that I helped Dad pick out for you at that shop you love. It suits you. I do feel guilty for always teasing you about shopping there, but you never had the money to go elsewhere. Something else I let you down on - the promise of giving you a comfortable life was swept away as my selfish needs came first. Again. Not that that ever changed your love for me - unwavering.

Graeme and Todd came by this morning - it’s the first time I’ve seen either of them since the crash. They both came out okay - I don’t resent them for that. They told me you felt differently though, that you weren’t speaking to them - please don’t blame them. I took the pills, it’s my fault.

Even though I’m not here, the horrors of that night still haunt me - her eyes, Mum. Her eyes were the last thing I remember. What did I do? You won’t mention it, but Graeme and Todd told me what I did.

That poor little girl.

Her family.

I’m a monster...

There’s a figure in the shadows. I can see it in the corner of my eye. It’s following me, watching me. I don’t know what it wants Mum, but I don’t like it. Is this my punishment?

Please help me Mum.

Wait - it’s telling me something. I think it wants me to go with it. I can’t tell - its voice is distorted and hard to understand, like the sound of marbles rolling about in your hand.

I have to go now Mum. Take care of Dad.

The light is growing dimmer now. I’m following the figure - everything is fading, except the croaking. There’s a horrible, musty smell, but I don’t care. I don’t even feel anymore. Why don’t I feel?

It’s dark now, so dark...

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