I was tired of being made fun of for how pale my skin was. After all, it wasn't my fault I was born white as a ghost. I desperately wanted to be tan and counted all my options. Spray on. Salon bed. But nothing was as good as the real thing. The Sun.
I sat out one day and waited to be roasted. I could feel the rays of heat burning my pours, baking every inch of flesh. I knew too much was bad, but I couldn't let go. It felt so good to be scorched, to be roasted alive.
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Very Short Stories & Drabbles
Short StoryA collection of very short stories, microfictions, and drabbles from all themes and genres. Posted weekly!
