missxinsane
It was that key that killed me. That door really shouldn't have been opened, just like mother said, but I hadn't listened to her. And now I'm here, with the same key in hand, with the same door in front of me. I should open it, but i do.
in a way, my camera played a part in my untimely death. It had broken, see, and it needed to get fixed. We took it the the tech shop on liberty street on September eleventh of 2001. And that was the end.
bleep. the sound was driving me crazy. it had been bleeping for the past three hours with the same result: nothing. then, out of the blue -literally- it bleeped a different bleep. we found it!
Saturday. Saturday was the day I found out.
“What? What is it?” He’d asked.
“I don’t know.” I had snapped
“Well, Is it pink or what?”
“I don’t know” I repeated. “It hasn’t changed yet.” How long did these things usually take? A minute? Minutes? How many? I began to get dizzy, so I sat down, never taking my eyes off the little stick. This was it. This stick would tell me whether or not my fifteen year old life was ruined. Mom would kill me. Dad would break out of jail and set me on fire. Tom would... I looked over at Tom. He would leave me.
And sure enough, the stick turned pink.