The end of my life approached with certainty. My strength was no match for the muscles in the hands holding my head under the water. The nails seared as they dug into my neck. White-hot fear spread through me. My inner thighs grew warm and wet as I lost all control. I...
Content warning: racism and racial slurs Ah hate Myspace an Bebo an aw that shite. Ah don’t dae bloggin an ah don’t dae Messenger an ah’m no wan ae these fannies that spends half thir life rearrangin the order ae thir stupit TOP SIXTEEN FRIENDS list. Aw ma pals are...
Content warning: homophobia and homophobic slurs Her hair was pure white now, but I’d have known Miss Taylor anywhere. Despite being in her eighties, her fragile frame held together by Marks and Spencer’s finest, she still had all those cowlicks scattered randomly...
Content warning: self-harm, suicidal thoughts The boy dreams of fire. He dreams of pouring gasoline over himself and lighting a match. The dream does not leave his mind with the rising daylight; it sinks in deeper, taking hold of him and forcing him to view the truth...
In Paris, every advertisement is a painting. The city is wallpapered with them: vibrant, colorful posters that grow like moss on every surface. I like looking at the ads when Maman brings me to the city. Every month, we take the Metro to the open-air market, and I...
Dear Sleuth Readers: The following content is an excerpt from a letter currently on display in the National Museum of Tourism and Immigration. Carbon dating and ink analysis places the letter’s age between 200 and 300 years old. # Hesitant, we step out of the taxi...
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