Prompts = Incentive, Bastion, Misery
Colour drained from the world the day my best friend, arguably my only friend, died.
A bit of me died too.
More than a bit.
Quite a lot, actually.
Bed covers have become my armour against the day, the night, time, existence.
Mom brings me things. I vaguely remember eating them long ago, ages ago. Now the duvet muffles the smell.
I hear I should get up and do something. I have no incentive. I’m happy here. My “bastion of misery” as Dad has taken to calling it.
Snarky. I’m getting snarky.
Maybe the world needs a dose of snark.
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