August 2nd, 2017
I try.
But I can't.
I can't move my body properly.
Without falling to the ground.
I can't walk a few steps.
Without feeling like blacking out.
I feel
Weak.
I look into the mirror.
I see the image again.
Ribs.
Bone.
Skin.
But this time it doesn't change.
YOU ARE READING
Weak
Short Story"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, But the silence of our friends." ~Martin Luther King Jr. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing we could do. It wasn't our fault. Or was it, really? ...
