And now, a peek at my vulnerability and the painful state of affairs six years ago:
Travis was playing his drum set. “You should leave,” I told him.
“No. I have to talk to you. Why do you let them treat you like that?” he demanded.
I sat against the wall and stared at the ceiling. “Why not?”
“There are plenty of reasons why not!”
“Yes, but none I really care about.”
He knelt in front of me. “I don’t know why you say that.”
“I just wasted six years of my life on this, this crap! My adolescence, my childhood completely stolen from me. And in literally the blink of an eye, my writing lost all meaning. I saw it for its true form and that scared me more than anything. Why does it matter what I let imaginary people do to me?” I put my head on my hands.
Want to see the rest? Pop on over to the Cuil Scenes section.