1 How can I go on?

A short story written by Lee Svestad at 3am out of anger

So it has come to this. Here I sit by my lonesome as the clock strikes twelve, the pain of a thousand widows is carefully placed on my conscience as this certain paradox of confusion and understanding hits me in the face. With the power of a forklift controlled by a man lacking empathy, I am shot in my heart. I take a deep breath, and attempt to asses the damage done to my lineage, my pride, and most importantly my current faith In my caretakers. It is as I thought. My screen time has been turned on. I gasp for air, but god does not not favor the beautiful, and my breath proves futile. What do I do from here? I ask myself. But I am reminded that my attempts to secure more time on my personal devices after the mother figure falls asleep, have always proven unsuccessful. That is an axiom. After a few more breaths I settle back down into my chair, for the last three minutes I have been pacing my room, adjusting my many small bird sculptures, and conversing with the particles of blood I keep in a microscope slide near my bed. Whose blood it holds, I have long forgotten. I decide my next step of action- I will write a will. My shaky hand reaches for parchment and quill. But I remember I live in the twenty first century and I pull up my messenger app. How dismal this is, can a man not write his last words with class anymore. I digress. To write down i only come up with two things, as if I am a traveling merchant who's only personal belongings are his rucksack and family heirloom which is a key to a memory box he buried long ago. For me i offer only two things yes, but those two things make the traveling merchants belongings seem like dirt below your feet.

- my pusheen cat stuffed animal collection will go to Samson, my youngest brother

- my deodorant will go to the kid who sits next to me after p.e.(I just bought it and if I was to survive this attempt to rejoin my kin death himself, his stench would have finished the job)

To the rest of my friends and family I say only this-

Farewell my old companions, the night is young, but the soul within me has been shriveled old by the war which is day. I hope to see you all again, with the exception of my caregivers who have proven to have taken any possibility to deprive me of happiness.

With love,

Lee