Tuesday October 25, 2016
From a text
The voices start quietly, slurring into my vision, tripping my feet over pavement cracks. I don’t say shit to them but they go on and on, taunting and daring. I can’t even count how many there are any more and I’m not going to tell Kelly because there’s no way he’ll understand the migraines or the pebbles in my pockets. Got to make sure I start doing my own laundry, leaving the windows open. Got to get a new prescription, is what he’ll say, but he’s wrong as Christmas.