The Vanishing Girl

“Are you threatening me?” I asked.

“No. I wouldn’t say that.”

“I’m not the one that grabbed someone in an abusive manner last night.”

Something splashed onto the ground, causing my attention to shift towards the man’s trash. I cringed at the discovery of trickling blood from a towel that snuck out several inches from the garbage can while the scent of bleach wafted through the air.

“There’s blood oozing out of your garbage can.”

“So, what’s your point?”





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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. :)