Broken Soul by Heather Knight |
I taint everything I touch. It all withers and dies. It's been like this ever since I was a child. Dad left, Mum died of tuberculosis... The dark hand of death comes out of my chest like a tentacle ready to grasp its prey and I cannot do anything to stop it. I turn to the written word to forget my sorrows and create black tales of fear and horror. It does help a bit ... sometimes. I also turn to the bottle and it blesses me with the oblivion I crave. But nothing can help me now. The love of my life is dying and I'm unable to alleviate her pain. I know what it will be like when she's gone. I won't be able to go on. She's unwittingly sentenced me to death.
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Heather Knight
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