The voice on the phone is his. But it's not. It's darker. It's colder. It's... other. I know it isn't him. The voice difference makes it obvious. But I can't help but see him.
They say they hate me. I say "Me too."
They say I'm pathetic. I say "Thanks. I agree."
Whatever they throw at me, I take. I don't know what each of them knows. I don't know if they all know about each other. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
I'm used to it. I'm used to not knowing. I'm used to taking the blows as they come. I'm used to falling down, but I'm also used to getting back up. I'm used to hitting back.
But you don't punch a block of ice. You don't punch fire. You don't hurt them, you just avoid them. You take what damage is unavoidable, and then you leave.
But you don't leave someone who you care about. You don't leave what is nearest and dearest to your heart. You don't just leave that thing, that person, behind.
But what if that person is cracked? What if that person has too many pieces, but none of them fit together. What if that's what they tell you, but not what you believe? What if one of their pieces keeps trying to fit, but just makes more and more of a mess? What if that piece is hurting them, more and more every time they take a breath?
What if their broken pieces start to hurt you?
YOU ARE READING
Programming Errors
Short StoryWarnings: mentality/mental state issues (depression, anxiety, mental breakdowns, etc.), beware (other stuff possible) This is a collection of dark(ish) short stories that I've come up with. Some of them involve things like mental breakdowns, so be w...
