The Lost Girl

I ran from the bathroom. My head throbbed suddenly, and I felt as though my whole body were pumping with sick. I stopped, nearly laughed, and remembered that all this was actually happening. I tried to make it fiction, but reality was screaming in my head.

I don’t know what’s happened to him. I’ve left him in the bath. Maybe he’ll get out or maybe he will just give up and drown. I don’t know. I can’t care.

I am in my room, with the newspaper clippings. Mystery? There was never a mystery. Just the usual horror cliché, a killer hiding behind a mask. In my one hand is the doll, and in the other I clutch the telephone, ready to call the police. I will have to drop one of them. I don’t know what to tell them if I do. Diane Symons didn’t kill anyone, at least not the Diane she thought she was. I’ve changed so much. I’m not the same person anymore. Am I?

Am I?

The doll cracks as she hits the floor.

©2010





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)