Ever since I was a child, people called me a dreamer. A kid, with overcharged imagination, had been through hell since then.
From Aslan, the white witch and talking animals, my fantasy morphed into a dark dimension of reality full of greed, hatred, lust and grief.
In retrospect, my life is doomed from the beginning.
Being an orphan, I resonated with Oliver Twist so much I couldn't watch its movie version. The Catcher in the Rye kept me sane through my teenage years. Fortunately for me, Twilight wasn't around then, or else I might not have made it through my young adulthood.
At least for now, I got to kill people for a living.
I wasn't a professional contract killer or an assassin, only a novelist who created her own perfect existence.
My Narnia was definitely not a fairy tale with a happy ending, but I was okay with it.
YOU ARE READING
HOPELESS
Short StoryA collection of dark microfiction. It's Halloween season! Throughout October, I'll be posting a daily dose of my 31 mini stories. Please give it a read.
