I found my notebook that has a few scenes and poems I thought up at school. Blame the suckiness on stress and... fatigue.
"My pa says you're a witch."
It was 6:32 in the morning. I didn't need to hear that shit. No 'good morning, Miss. Adlam'. Nope. 'My pa says you're a fucking witch.' That's fucking great.
"Well, tell your father to go fuck himself. Fuck himself right in the ass."
Yes, that's what I would've said if I had any balls. But I don't, so I just looked at him, then at my coffee, waiting for him to leave. It took quite a few moments for him to stop gawking, but he eventually left, and the sound of a thunderous laugh erupted in the air. Looking up, an image of father-son bonding came into view. They both laughed, feeling an odd sense of amusement as they looked my way. I think that's when I shot him.
"You think, Mrs. Adlam?"
Yes ma'am. I'm not entirely sure when the exact moment was. I could've shot him the moment his son spoke to me and made the rest up. My mind has been a little fuzzy, lately.
"I see."
Well, that's good that you do, I suppose.
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Bathed in tears, she turned to face her brother-- pale white and cold from toes to ears.
A gasp erupted, sending panic throughout her. The murderer lay there, alive and wide-eyed at her and her home so corrupted.
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Trust not the heart,
for it does bleed.
Trust not the fantasy you read.
But trust in me,
and my mighty word.
Although sometimes it seems absurd,
I am your God.
Pray upon my empty word.