Category: 55 words


He promised to call later that night. An innocuous, non-committal statement. Something she knew he would say to any girl he was friends with. But she being she couldn’t help but read much into it. She speculated a million scenarios in her head until it threatened to explode. She took a sleeping pill that night.



The wall was her canvas. A silent witness to her angst and its expressions. She wrote, painted and drove holes through it. Picking apart the peeling paint helped build concentration, she said. Scrubbing the color off it reinstated her belief in clean new beginnings. The wall was her punching bag, her confidante, her agony aunt.

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Some days, when I hear the hum or feel the vibration announcing the arrival of a text message, I try my best to avoid looking at it right away. Ditto for a missed call. The suspense thrills me, with its myriad possibilities. It tempts me, like an uneaten chocolate, until I can resist no more.

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