Laura Morrigan

Content Warning: murder My head pounds, my stomach growls, my fingers bleed. I cannot stop playing. The same song, over and over. The same silent song. My eyes are stinging, my tears dried up days ago. I have had no food or water for at least a week ;  I should be dead by now ,  but it wants me to go on. Wants me to keep playing. I don’t know if it will ever let me die. My body is not my own. It is perhaps a unique torture that my mind is still free, that I can drift back in time to when we first came here. How unhappy I was then, unaware of how much worse things could still get. * I remember when I first saw the house, solid and imposing   despite its ramshackle condition. An old manor house, with   peeling paint and boards on the windows . My mother’s face was white and stiff, holding back the anger that had been simmering for days now. My father was trying to make this seem like a big adventure. My younger sisters actually thought it was . They were laughing, runn...

 Content warning: Hunting, animal death * The officer slides the hot chocolate  to me across the metal table. His eyes are sympathetic, but I don’t know if this is one of those things to trick you into confessing to something you didn ’t do. “Look kid, I know you’re in shock, but we really need to know what happened. Do you think you can help us out?” I pull the blanket closer around me. It smells like someone’s dog has been using it as a bed. Maybe the police dogs were sleeping on it. I think of Skip, his warm fur and smelly dog scent. An image of his body flits before my eyes and I smell the bitter tang of blood in my nostrils. “I didn’t want to go,” I whisper. * I didn’t want to go on the trip but dad wouldn’t hear of it. Hunting, fishing, violent sports, getting drunk: They were all his idea of what it meant to be a man. I guess that’s why mum and dad weren’t together anymore. Mum was more like me. We didn’t like movies where the dog died or dad’s drunken friends. Once dad...