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Previous short story:
Chapter X: Little Black Thing
Next short story:
Prisoner of Desire

The thunder outside is banging against my wall. I fear for it but there's no one else in the room. I snuggle closer against my pillow until I can feel my own hot breath. It suffocating me but it's better than seeing the lightning clashes and thunders roar. The rain offers me solace from the grieving silence.

You might call me an emo but 87percent of my feelings are consists of angst, depression and anxiety. Yes, and I do suspect I might have a psychological problem. But I refuse to be helped. And I don't know why.

I feel confused now that I have time to think about my feelings, my life. I have been alone all this while. It's not like I chose to be alone, but it's just I happened to be and I'm used to it now. Though I seek solitary, the emptiness kills me slowly.

I'm sorry, Heart. I couldn't find anyone to love you yet. Bear with me for a little longer, alright?

Yes, here I am talking to my heart and my mind. These little whispers keep taking me back to the past. Of the times that had hurt and pained me so much my tears start to flow out carelessly. Those wounds will never close I know. Time heals? Not for me though, no. Time could only prolong what had done.

Everyone needs a hug.

But I ain't getting any. I could only hug my pillow and myself. Funny, I think the thunder is yelling at me, screaming that I should stop what I'm doing. What is it that it makes me want to stop from doing?

The rain keeps pouring all the negative and positive statements onto me. This of course, makes me feel confused ever more.

It's like a damaged doll. The damaged doll is confused where to put his tore off hands and feet. Since he is alone without anyone to help him, he fixes himself. What else can he do? So he puts his tore off arm into his leg's hole and vice versa. Now, he's broken. His other arm is his feet and his feet is his arm now.

He might realizes his mistakes but his arm and legs are fixed into place now and there's no way he could take them off again. Yes, he realizes he's broken but there's no one to help him. It's him alone.

And so am I.

My friends? Not that close.
My family? Can't.
My special one? Like I said, I'm alone.

So who's there? I'm not spoiled. I'm just lonely. Even now, I'm the only one in my room. And tomorrow too. No doubt.


When you're confused, and alone with no one to guide and help're surely broken. Damaged things can be fixed but broken things? People tend to throw broken things away, right? Why is it?

It cannot be fixed anymore.

Previous short story:
Chapter X: Little Black Thing
Next short story:
Prisoner of Desire

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about the writer

Blake Zane

An Otaku and an Escapist. A Dreamer and Imaginative. Rides Pegasus and eats Ambrosia. Sleeps in the Clouds with Thunder as Lullaby. Eccentric but not Extreme. Loves but not in Love.
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