I suppose I should feel badly about what I’ve done: Repentant, contrite, and perhaps even a bit sorry.
But I won’t.
I imagine I should beg forgiveness, seek absolution, penance, cast myself at the mercy of the court.
But I don’t.
Then there’s that bit about why I am this way: “Troubled”, some would say. “Damaged”, perhaps others might posit. “Deluded” from some corners.
But I’m not.
I am the darkest corner of one’s soul, shadowy thoughts that tumble through the mind like rocks in a polisher.
Outwardly lustrous, exquisite.
But inside?
All crust and grit.
In other words:
Monstrous.
^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^^^^^^----------------------------
Happy Birthday, Sarah!
This is a preview of The Good Doctor
XXOO
PBrr/AzureEyedI/Dawn
