Consequence … fuck I hate that word. Got it in for me. Brought me here. Sat me down here. Tormented me here. Don’t you think I’ve been through enough? Did you really have to show me these two?
Brought it on yourself, Josh. Didn’t have to come. You wanted this. You caused this.
I’m here coz I was told to … confront it … that’s what he said. That’s what they’ve all said.
You’re too weak … still can’t take responsibility.
I can. I have.
I don’t think you have.
It wasn’t my fault.
See, I was right. You can’t take responsibility.
It wasn’t.
Liar.
It was sunstrike.
Liar.
I’m not lying.
You’re fuckin lying, Josh.
I’m not.
You are. You’re lying, Josh. Lying. Lying. Fuckin lying.
Leave me alone … please.
I’m not leaving you alone. You did this. She’s not here because of you.
Don’t you think I know that?
Then admit it.
Fuck off!
Admit it, Josh. Admit what you did.
Stop … just stop.
No.
I need to leave.
Admit it.
I can’t.
You can. That’s why you’re here.
I wish I wasn’t … I wish it had been me.
But it wasn’t. It was her.
This fictional short story was written for a 50 Day Project organised by the artist Amanda Billing. I get 45 minutes to an hour (not the project’s rules, it’s just about the time I have right now) to write a story, sometime between 4.30am and 5.30am. After that, the day is no longer mine.
N.B. The sketch image for this short story was created using AI (at best, I can draw a half-decent stick man). The words are all mine.
Suggested Further Reading:
