On a Thread: A Narrative Story

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I always had such emotions, such passion. Everything had it's own thought. Yet at this moment, I felt nothing. There was no sorrow, anxiety, depression, nothing. The gun laid in front of my shaking hands. A bottle of gin to my side, and a half smoked cigarette in between my fingers. Was it my time? I believe it is... I grab the gun and aim it in my mouth. My finger shakes near the trigger. I can't. I move quickly and shoot myself in the right shoulder. I squeal in pain and fall off my bed. Blood pours onto me and my floor. I hear my door burst open and the world turns silent and dark. I wake up in a cold bed, partially exposed. Unfamiliar faces surround me. "Mom? Mom..." I ask wearily. "Your mothers at home," a strange man explains, "worrying sick about you." I brush the last part off and close my eyes. "I'm Doctor Blairty, I saved your life. You should be thankful." I open my eyes and snarl at him. He rolls his eyes "Teenagers these days, they believe society only cares if they're dead." I interrupt "Or beautiful." He chuckles slightly. "Colt 45... How'd you get your filthy hands on that much power?" He asks with raised eyebrows. "My fathers gun collection," I answer, refusing to make eye contact, "he was always so proud of it." He looked at me in shock. "You're Mr. Fullsins daughter!" I look at him confused. "How do you know my dad?" He laughs lightly. "I tried to save him when he offed himself last winter, funny how things work," he he tries to hide his stupid smile, "wouldn't shut up about those stupid guns." My body tenses up. Yes, it's so funny that some poor mans daughter tried to end her life the same way he did just months age. Maybe I should file some complaint about this wackjob. A loud bang comes from behind the cur... ... middle of paper ... ...as a raisin. Her hair was a white as snow and framed her face. Wire-framed glasses were perched on her long bird nose. "Very nice to meet you, I'm Mrs. Lopitew." She out stretches her hand, which I decline. "We have everything you could possibly need." She says in an up tight fashion. "Where's my stuff?" I ask, staring her in the eyes. "You won't need anything from home." She smiles the most fake smile you could ever see. I start twitching like crazy. "Here you go." She hand my three cigarettes. I smile slightly. "Smoking will be done in one of the five special rooms. We have a huge spectrum of clothing for all tastes. We hope you find yourself at home." She smiles again, this time for real. "You remind me of my granddaughter," she strokes my straight, blonde hair, "So young and beautiful. Shall we go inside?" I nod my head. She walks in front of me, and I follow.
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