I don’t like children which is unfortunate to my line of work…I call it work, but it’s torture really. If you are working a job that you hate, you always have the option of resigning…of opting out: of just deciding not to show up…
Category: Unreliable Narratives (Page 2 of 2)
I think it is the nostalgia that brings me back now that my brother has died, to that crumbling shack in the woods.
Now that he is gone I have nobody left. I feel drawn back to that place to shed the grief that cloaks me like a second skin; I want to lay my sorrow there to rot with the rest of our happy memories, now long dead.