I was supposed to write about a scenario we base off of a photograph of a girl covering half her face with the collar of her turtleneck. Â somehow, THIS is what came out:
I need to hide, to get away. Don’t look at my face. I hate myself. Why don’t you hate me?
You need to stop this. You are beautiful.
I am ugly.
You keep looking at my with those anguished eyes, cheer up, and stop talking this way.
No, I want to die, can’t you see, there is nothing left for me.
Get up off that floor and talk to me. It’s not over. It’s just beginning.
I don’t want it to begin. I don’t want to experience anything more.
Put that down right this instant and get yourself up off of that floor. Take that sweater off and just talk to me. Now. I’m serious.
You can’t stop me. This is my decision.
You don’t want to do this.
Too late.
No! No stop!
Goodbye.
*gunshot*