Random Short Stories

OCD

I hate certain numbers.

4,6... Maybe it is superstition since these two numbers are considered unlucky in various cultures.

But these two numbers get on my nerves.

When I scroll through social media and I see a post with one of these numbers. I'll like it immediately to rid me of its curse. Regardless of whether I genuinely like the post's content or not. It doesn't matter. My hatred for these numbers fuel a roaring fire.

I hate taps, or switches or anything that can be turned on and off.

Questions run through my mind endlessly, telling me not to trust my own eyes.

The room could be pitch black for all I care, my brain still nags that the switch isn't toggled right. It takes forever for me to off just one miserable tap. Because... what if the tap is still dripping?

I hate disorder.

So much that I'll scream uncontrollably at anyone who messes up my things.

All it takes is the organisation of my items in the wrong order for me to burst into a fiery rage.

I hate my OCD.