p data-p-id="521777afcbb17469bc9a5942a77a50c7"I still remember the day I killed Father. It's like a fresh paint coating my dream with terror. It wakes me up to my cold cell with a quivering body covered in sweat, wide eyes sprinkled with tears at the corner, and pants that escapes my mouth./p
p data-p-id="1291f8538b6f2e6ee271366eb87af29d"I was a little girl who, at the order given by Mother, would hide inside the closet as Father would yell, and hit her. I was terrified of him; the way his eyes became wide, nostrils flaring, mouth set in a retracted state, and his blue veins protruding in his neck and arm was deeply ingrained in my mind as a fear./p
p data-p-id="f3f80492306b63e906041da14c0190f0"He would move around, his arms dangerously knocking over lamps and anything on the table. He would roar in his rage about what happened in his day, and would expect Mother to comfort him, and when she did, he would flung her across the room, her frail body bruising afterwards and even, sometimes her bones would break, but that was nothing compared to the broken look on her face I would often see./p
p data-p-id="8e5c079c7f1dfccdc08b01e377fcb781"If she didn't tried to console him, he would react the same way. I asked him one day why he liked to hit her. Father gazed at me for a long time, not with his usual angry face, but a face like Mother's./p
p data-p-id="6cf0acbb106b8f8ce96a4cdb0b6e6bd4""It's the only way I can feel in control." He said, voice cracking. "It's the only time I don't feel trapped."/p
p data-p-id="716516a10753103999bddc06366ac5e5"I was confused. In control? He was always in control, he made desicion for Mother and me. He would not let her speak without his permission, he was dominant at all times, so why would he feel in control when he hit her?/p
p data-p-id="1327fce795a0d128a7dc5549c50098de"I told that to Mother as she slid down the wall, and cried. I asked her why we can't leave. Why we had to stay with him? He hurt her all the time. Her answer was the same as the previous ones./p
p data-p-id="1c14692bba08c137ecf593c20ae39d05""He is not... bad." She would say, and offer me a smile through her tears. "He just gets... angry. He can't control himself when he's like that." She whispered, wiping away her tears, and cupped my face. "He is your father and my husband. We have to help him control himself."/p
p data-p-id="4d8bf4c73cffaff77a753eaf2868d203"Things only got worse. Before he would abuse her one time in two weeks or so, but then he started to hit her on daily basis. My resentment grew each day as I would stand between him and Mother, and try to take any hit he throw at her to myself./p
p data-p-id="d0d12c31dca6e0fdbe18d767f58b880e"In school, I tried to go back home as fast as possible with gripping fear that he was being violent again. My grades were low; I rarely studied, instead I would try to learn how to defend myself and Mother, but of course it was never enough to get him off from me and Mother with sheer strength and will. Teachers would complain to my parents; Father didn't care, Mother would apologize to them, and make a promise to make me study which were never kept./p
p data-p-id="dea47f7d4d59a8323cd2fa00349942ca"One day, when I came home from school, I heard the usual thuds of his punches, Mother's muffled screams, and the sound of the objects being thrown. I bolted into the living room to discovered he was standing over Mother with clenched hands that had portion of her hair. He had ripped it out of her head; it was bleeding./p
p data-p-id="e8c34e253047d77fd4e14fffc9a7b7a9"Anger bubbled in me, instantly engulfing me in its blinding cocoon. I dashed into the kitchen, and searched for the cabin that contained knife Mother hid, afraid that he might kill her with it and "be jailed." Once I had it in my hand, I remember gripping it so hard, and relish living without hm, without violence, and without a dominating figure in my life who would constantly hurt Mother./p
p data-p-id="8681e42dcc2a89207da31cf9b393c460"I remember standing between them with a knife in my hand. I heard Mother and Father say something to me but my anger had enveloped me, making me incapable of listening to reason and logic. I threw myself at him, the knife, with a sickening noise, deeply rooting itself in his stomach, and the thick blood seeping to my hand./p
p data-p-id="543e4e1a2f49ddf601488ce930e39519"He stumbled backward, holding his bleeding abdomen with a fearful expression I was delighted to see. I felt in control for the first time, power, and belief that I could do something, something about him. I dashed towards him with a satisfaction at seeing him terrified of me, and tried to slice his neck. I heard Mother scream in desperation at me to stop, but I wanted to kill him. I wanted to take his life. I wanted to see his terrified expression./p
p data-p-id="ef6126af7911ab6a340896794045edf2"His regret./p
p data-p-id="02cae1362b71a4426310b7b1f568464f"His sorrow./p
p data-p-id="cf1dd0e7626ebd50f07d5462deb89597"I wanted to feel his blood oozing into my hands again, and watch as he struggled with pain. The pain he inflicted on her. I wanted him to feel that./p
p data-p-id="ef91720bb5d3b8ae5e06651ba41f80bd"He stopped the knife with his hand, but I jerked it, effectively cutting his palm. I gave him no time as I lunged myself at him again. I was on top of him, pressing the knife in his neck. I remember his eyes above anything else and my reaction./p
p data-p-id="7b2d692af2e34f8728861f0c12e57a8d"There were emotions in his pool of blue orbs. Desperation. Sadness. Regret. Pain. I savored the scene in my mind. These emotion were constant in Mother's shattered eyes and expression; that is what she felt everyday. It gave me pleasure to see he was feeling this way. Pleasure I have never felt before./p
p data-p-id="574238876445cc6399de835f0b7cac43"I pressed the knife further, and watched as his arms moved helplessly under my leg to shove me off. I took it slow and deliberate. I wanted to convey to him how much I hated him. I wanted him to know how much I wanted to see him suffer./p
p data-p-id="c0cef10abf899ea34481fd379c41265c"His eyes bulged at the pain, and blood leaked from his parted mouth. He begged me to stop, but the pleasure of seeing him in pain was blinding me like my anger. It was such a captivating emotion. Grin broke out on my face, and the snarl disappear as pleasure replaced my wrath./p
p data-p-id="b89f4085c77e308145a59661e57ee414""Please..." he pleaded./p
p data-p-id="d8ac9b2727f64eccad114b5b93fed751""Stop." He had begged as tears trailed from his eyes like the blood on his chin. I didn't stop. I pushed the knife. His eyes rolled backward, and his body fought against his impending death, which proved to be fruitless./p
p data-p-id="6049654a51874869ca3ae6d40f027f16"He was dead./p
p data-p-id="d6301b95ba6c79bb9a4da65208876b05"I had killed him on that day./p
p data-p-id="9e00277bb4aaa7dcabebcd1f82c2928e"I had thought Mother would be happy with me. I thought she and I would have our 'happy ending' like those from fairy tales. I thought we would live in happiness now that he was dead./p
p data-p-id="c766d6995107fa7fc29f306972d0ad18"But the look on her face was something that hunted me everyday./p
p data-p-id="b270a79229c238770be6942ab597aee6"I saw hate, anger and fear in her eyes. Directed at me. She was trembling, and droplet of sparkling tears were bleeding from her orbs./p
p data-p-id="db90fe923a0ec9b3f60844e7736156ba"She was fearing me. Fearing me. It was the emotion she felt towards Father. It wasn't supposed to be directed at me./p
p data-p-id="d4c267a7a009f8427435bbb9a2ac295c""Mommy...?" I called out to her as I stood up and felt the warm blood on my face that had splashed on me./p
p data-p-id="1708fcf4106a96568c9c2d7cfe60cb33""How could you?" She had whispered and haltingly got on her quivering feet. "W-what is it?" I stuttered. Why would she be mad with me? Why would she be upset with me? Father was hurting her, so what if I hurt him back? He did that everyday./p
p data-p-id="e32996f7ac1c9f309db149fe29804659"She was before me with her bruised face. She looked angry, emotion I have never seen in her before. She raised her hand. I smiled; I though she was going to cup my face like she always did./p
p data-p-id="da482f18fcfa398d5d93e48388e159f7"But instead, my head was turned from her abruptly with a 'smack.' It had taken me a moment to realize she slapped me. My mother, who never raised her hand or her voice against me, my mother who was so emphatic and understanding, my mother who was never upset with me, had just slapped my face. It was like being dropped into the freezing ocean, leaving my body numb and engulfed in its curse./p
p data-p-id="577a1f147e0ee7af866f6bf8efbbda40"I remember touching my cheeks; the blood warm against my hand, and I when I looked at my hands, it was trembling with the red liquid running down from my hand like a slithering snake./p
p data-p-id="f3574477eea09616761a8d1328c4485f"After that, everything was like a blur to me. I can vaguely remember being in a court, but I couldn't hear anyone; it was like distinct sound from far away./p
p data-p-id="98723a442556900af480cd03b6edef7e"I had been in a room which had a sense of homely environment, but it brought unpleasant memories to me. The man in a white coat- who I later learned was my assigned therapist in the Juvenile ward- talked to me for a while, but I didn't answer him. I couldn't answer him./p
p data-p-id="11ea5c2813e16878d0370a54b01a5410""What lead to you snapping at your Father?" He had asked, staring intently at me with his pad and pencil in his hand. I processed the question, but my mind was blank. I couldn't come up with answer, it was as though a fog had clouded my brain./p
p data-p-id="2baf9f45fea34535ef86d4ba4c039caa"I don't know for how long these sessions go. He would ask questions after questions, and I would answer to none of them. I later learned I was diagnosed with progressive mutism: a continues form of Selective Mutism./p
p data-p-id="360adbec9f67ddf9d9823fb090b187bd"Everyday was the same. I would lay in my bed staring up at the white ceiling, observing the amount of tiles there are. I would sometimes turn around to see another white wall with a flower on my night table. There was nothing more than a bed, and a night table. Everything was white. My therapist would come, ask me questions or simply talk about something, and I would never answer./p
p data-p-id="a7461fe90fc48bf31e09dfee299eb2f7"Mother never came to visit me, it was like she had forgotten me; it made me utterly devastated, upset and mad with her./p
p data-p-id="48c0b1a4ad4402b2fac1518fdef61c36"I didn't know how long I have been in there; this prison of my mind. Has it been weeks? Months? Years? Decades? I simply limped in reality, unable to bath in its richness./p
p data-p-id="d72b4632c60e84e6d68ae5f241196fee"As usual, I watched the single daffodil flower lose its petal one by one; it was always replaced the next morning. It made me think the flower was like me in a sense, I was slowly losing hope everyday, and just like the daffodil, I will soon be replaced by a tiny, little human somewhere in the world. The world will remember me as another unfortunate tragedy; a young child who murdered her father at the age of 10. It would not go farther than that, I will be labeled a lunatic who would be treated in history as a maniac rather than a human. They will try to put forth their explanation, their justification of the murder I committed, and by these, they will define me./p
p data-p-id="56c8947cedae31a8e8a4092aae0a1259"Life has been cruel to me; she was a wretched beauty. Her eyes would darken in sadism, her lips moved in deception, and her hands inflicted atrocities upon my young, trapped soul that laid in her mercy; chained and bound for eternity./p
p data-p-id="6ffad62786db0d599b51ea5c439c4cf2"For a moment she would shower me in her kindness, like a mother soothing her distressed child, but just like the devil himself, tear me away from her brief tenderness. I longed for these short-lived kindness, for a moment to feel her indulgence, and forget the slim hands that relentlessly wreaked misery in me./p
p data-p-id="8e44fde4f3e8ac437d783a99a37bb393"She was an illusion, who made promises, deluded her victims, let them fall into her trap, and chained them with a hope they will find happiness, a lingering hope they will master her before freedom comes, before death comes./p
p data-p-id="5e089f397188f19c94f1fb76a3bf7eac"I was glad to see Death at my door, dressed in white with a mask veiling his face, and a syringe that I thought would be a tool to break my chains. What I thought would be a freedom lifting me from her, was a needle injected in me as the liquid traveled through my body like a leech sucking my blood, leaving me unable to breathe evenly and see only the blur of my white room./p
p data-p-id="a9b92d3956eac13d57b362544f3f38f5"My head felt as though a great force was compressing it with pleasure. My hands were like jelly when I tried to move them, and so my body./p
p data-p-id="2cb17f4dca8ca5539c23baddf1ba9f2d"I let out an agonized scream as the pain increased. What was he doing? Taking away my ability to move? Was my inability to speak not enough for them?/p
p data-p-id="310e118681bb86a3fb7792b73ffaf843"The blurred white of my room began to darken at the corners like a dream that slowly vanished from a child who learned the sadistic ways of Life. My breath stopped as the pain of my head numbed, until I could not feel its tingling sense./p
p data-p-id="310e118681bb86a3fb7792b73ffaf843"_/p
p data-p-id="7317680de900606a26ff23ef862f2466"strongHello readers!/strong/p
p data-p-id="685c999865a5a04407ee139236d106a8"strongThank you for choosing to read my fan fiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to point at my mistakes. Tell me how it was. Boring? Or eeh?/strong/p
p data-p-id="00e225a383e0bc05bfe4d31970b2408d"strongLeave a comment! They give me motivation to write. /strong/p
p data-p-id="1291f8538b6f2e6ee271366eb87af29d"I was a little girl who, at the order given by Mother, would hide inside the closet as Father would yell, and hit her. I was terrified of him; the way his eyes became wide, nostrils flaring, mouth set in a retracted state, and his blue veins protruding in his neck and arm was deeply ingrained in my mind as a fear./p
p data-p-id="f3f80492306b63e906041da14c0190f0"He would move around, his arms dangerously knocking over lamps and anything on the table. He would roar in his rage about what happened in his day, and would expect Mother to comfort him, and when she did, he would flung her across the room, her frail body bruising afterwards and even, sometimes her bones would break, but that was nothing compared to the broken look on her face I would often see./p
p data-p-id="8e5c079c7f1dfccdc08b01e377fcb781"If she didn't tried to console him, he would react the same way. I asked him one day why he liked to hit her. Father gazed at me for a long time, not with his usual angry face, but a face like Mother's./p
p data-p-id="6cf0acbb106b8f8ce96a4cdb0b6e6bd4""It's the only way I can feel in control." He said, voice cracking. "It's the only time I don't feel trapped."/p
p data-p-id="716516a10753103999bddc06366ac5e5"I was confused. In control? He was always in control, he made desicion for Mother and me. He would not let her speak without his permission, he was dominant at all times, so why would he feel in control when he hit her?/p
p data-p-id="1327fce795a0d128a7dc5549c50098de"I told that to Mother as she slid down the wall, and cried. I asked her why we can't leave. Why we had to stay with him? He hurt her all the time. Her answer was the same as the previous ones./p
p data-p-id="1c14692bba08c137ecf593c20ae39d05""He is not... bad." She would say, and offer me a smile through her tears. "He just gets... angry. He can't control himself when he's like that." She whispered, wiping away her tears, and cupped my face. "He is your father and my husband. We have to help him control himself."/p
p data-p-id="4d8bf4c73cffaff77a753eaf2868d203"Things only got worse. Before he would abuse her one time in two weeks or so, but then he started to hit her on daily basis. My resentment grew each day as I would stand between him and Mother, and try to take any hit he throw at her to myself./p
p data-p-id="d0d12c31dca6e0fdbe18d767f58b880e"In school, I tried to go back home as fast as possible with gripping fear that he was being violent again. My grades were low; I rarely studied, instead I would try to learn how to defend myself and Mother, but of course it was never enough to get him off from me and Mother with sheer strength and will. Teachers would complain to my parents; Father didn't care, Mother would apologize to them, and make a promise to make me study which were never kept./p
p data-p-id="dea47f7d4d59a8323cd2fa00349942ca"One day, when I came home from school, I heard the usual thuds of his punches, Mother's muffled screams, and the sound of the objects being thrown. I bolted into the living room to discovered he was standing over Mother with clenched hands that had portion of her hair. He had ripped it out of her head; it was bleeding./p
p data-p-id="e8c34e253047d77fd4e14fffc9a7b7a9"Anger bubbled in me, instantly engulfing me in its blinding cocoon. I dashed into the kitchen, and searched for the cabin that contained knife Mother hid, afraid that he might kill her with it and "be jailed." Once I had it in my hand, I remember gripping it so hard, and relish living without hm, without violence, and without a dominating figure in my life who would constantly hurt Mother./p
p data-p-id="8681e42dcc2a89207da31cf9b393c460"I remember standing between them with a knife in my hand. I heard Mother and Father say something to me but my anger had enveloped me, making me incapable of listening to reason and logic. I threw myself at him, the knife, with a sickening noise, deeply rooting itself in his stomach, and the thick blood seeping to my hand./p
p data-p-id="543e4e1a2f49ddf601488ce930e39519"He stumbled backward, holding his bleeding abdomen with a fearful expression I was delighted to see. I felt in control for the first time, power, and belief that I could do something, something about him. I dashed towards him with a satisfaction at seeing him terrified of me, and tried to slice his neck. I heard Mother scream in desperation at me to stop, but I wanted to kill him. I wanted to take his life. I wanted to see his terrified expression./p
p data-p-id="ef6126af7911ab6a340896794045edf2"His regret./p
p data-p-id="02cae1362b71a4426310b7b1f568464f"His sorrow./p
p data-p-id="cf1dd0e7626ebd50f07d5462deb89597"I wanted to feel his blood oozing into my hands again, and watch as he struggled with pain. The pain he inflicted on her. I wanted him to feel that./p
p data-p-id="ef91720bb5d3b8ae5e06651ba41f80bd"He stopped the knife with his hand, but I jerked it, effectively cutting his palm. I gave him no time as I lunged myself at him again. I was on top of him, pressing the knife in his neck. I remember his eyes above anything else and my reaction./p
p data-p-id="7b2d692af2e34f8728861f0c12e57a8d"There were emotions in his pool of blue orbs. Desperation. Sadness. Regret. Pain. I savored the scene in my mind. These emotion were constant in Mother's shattered eyes and expression; that is what she felt everyday. It gave me pleasure to see he was feeling this way. Pleasure I have never felt before./p
p data-p-id="574238876445cc6399de835f0b7cac43"I pressed the knife further, and watched as his arms moved helplessly under my leg to shove me off. I took it slow and deliberate. I wanted to convey to him how much I hated him. I wanted him to know how much I wanted to see him suffer./p
p data-p-id="c0cef10abf899ea34481fd379c41265c"His eyes bulged at the pain, and blood leaked from his parted mouth. He begged me to stop, but the pleasure of seeing him in pain was blinding me like my anger. It was such a captivating emotion. Grin broke out on my face, and the snarl disappear as pleasure replaced my wrath./p
p data-p-id="b89f4085c77e308145a59661e57ee414""Please..." he pleaded./p
p data-p-id="d8ac9b2727f64eccad114b5b93fed751""Stop." He had begged as tears trailed from his eyes like the blood on his chin. I didn't stop. I pushed the knife. His eyes rolled backward, and his body fought against his impending death, which proved to be fruitless./p
p data-p-id="6049654a51874869ca3ae6d40f027f16"He was dead./p
p data-p-id="d6301b95ba6c79bb9a4da65208876b05"I had killed him on that day./p
p data-p-id="9e00277bb4aaa7dcabebcd1f82c2928e"I had thought Mother would be happy with me. I thought she and I would have our 'happy ending' like those from fairy tales. I thought we would live in happiness now that he was dead./p
p data-p-id="c766d6995107fa7fc29f306972d0ad18"But the look on her face was something that hunted me everyday./p
p data-p-id="b270a79229c238770be6942ab597aee6"I saw hate, anger and fear in her eyes. Directed at me. She was trembling, and droplet of sparkling tears were bleeding from her orbs./p
p data-p-id="db90fe923a0ec9b3f60844e7736156ba"She was fearing me. Fearing me. It was the emotion she felt towards Father. It wasn't supposed to be directed at me./p
p data-p-id="d4c267a7a009f8427435bbb9a2ac295c""Mommy...?" I called out to her as I stood up and felt the warm blood on my face that had splashed on me./p
p data-p-id="1708fcf4106a96568c9c2d7cfe60cb33""How could you?" She had whispered and haltingly got on her quivering feet. "W-what is it?" I stuttered. Why would she be mad with me? Why would she be upset with me? Father was hurting her, so what if I hurt him back? He did that everyday./p
p data-p-id="e32996f7ac1c9f309db149fe29804659"She was before me with her bruised face. She looked angry, emotion I have never seen in her before. She raised her hand. I smiled; I though she was going to cup my face like she always did./p
p data-p-id="da482f18fcfa398d5d93e48388e159f7"But instead, my head was turned from her abruptly with a 'smack.' It had taken me a moment to realize she slapped me. My mother, who never raised her hand or her voice against me, my mother who was so emphatic and understanding, my mother who was never upset with me, had just slapped my face. It was like being dropped into the freezing ocean, leaving my body numb and engulfed in its curse./p
p data-p-id="577a1f147e0ee7af866f6bf8efbbda40"I remember touching my cheeks; the blood warm against my hand, and I when I looked at my hands, it was trembling with the red liquid running down from my hand like a slithering snake./p
p data-p-id="f3574477eea09616761a8d1328c4485f"After that, everything was like a blur to me. I can vaguely remember being in a court, but I couldn't hear anyone; it was like distinct sound from far away./p
p data-p-id="98723a442556900af480cd03b6edef7e"I had been in a room which had a sense of homely environment, but it brought unpleasant memories to me. The man in a white coat- who I later learned was my assigned therapist in the Juvenile ward- talked to me for a while, but I didn't answer him. I couldn't answer him./p
p data-p-id="11ea5c2813e16878d0370a54b01a5410""What lead to you snapping at your Father?" He had asked, staring intently at me with his pad and pencil in his hand. I processed the question, but my mind was blank. I couldn't come up with answer, it was as though a fog had clouded my brain./p
p data-p-id="2baf9f45fea34535ef86d4ba4c039caa"I don't know for how long these sessions go. He would ask questions after questions, and I would answer to none of them. I later learned I was diagnosed with progressive mutism: a continues form of Selective Mutism./p
p data-p-id="360adbec9f67ddf9d9823fb090b187bd"Everyday was the same. I would lay in my bed staring up at the white ceiling, observing the amount of tiles there are. I would sometimes turn around to see another white wall with a flower on my night table. There was nothing more than a bed, and a night table. Everything was white. My therapist would come, ask me questions or simply talk about something, and I would never answer./p
p data-p-id="a7461fe90fc48bf31e09dfee299eb2f7"Mother never came to visit me, it was like she had forgotten me; it made me utterly devastated, upset and mad with her./p
p data-p-id="48c0b1a4ad4402b2fac1518fdef61c36"I didn't know how long I have been in there; this prison of my mind. Has it been weeks? Months? Years? Decades? I simply limped in reality, unable to bath in its richness./p
p data-p-id="d72b4632c60e84e6d68ae5f241196fee"As usual, I watched the single daffodil flower lose its petal one by one; it was always replaced the next morning. It made me think the flower was like me in a sense, I was slowly losing hope everyday, and just like the daffodil, I will soon be replaced by a tiny, little human somewhere in the world. The world will remember me as another unfortunate tragedy; a young child who murdered her father at the age of 10. It would not go farther than that, I will be labeled a lunatic who would be treated in history as a maniac rather than a human. They will try to put forth their explanation, their justification of the murder I committed, and by these, they will define me./p
p data-p-id="56c8947cedae31a8e8a4092aae0a1259"Life has been cruel to me; she was a wretched beauty. Her eyes would darken in sadism, her lips moved in deception, and her hands inflicted atrocities upon my young, trapped soul that laid in her mercy; chained and bound for eternity./p
p data-p-id="6ffad62786db0d599b51ea5c439c4cf2"For a moment she would shower me in her kindness, like a mother soothing her distressed child, but just like the devil himself, tear me away from her brief tenderness. I longed for these short-lived kindness, for a moment to feel her indulgence, and forget the slim hands that relentlessly wreaked misery in me./p
p data-p-id="8e44fde4f3e8ac437d783a99a37bb393"She was an illusion, who made promises, deluded her victims, let them fall into her trap, and chained them with a hope they will find happiness, a lingering hope they will master her before freedom comes, before death comes./p
p data-p-id="5e089f397188f19c94f1fb76a3bf7eac"I was glad to see Death at my door, dressed in white with a mask veiling his face, and a syringe that I thought would be a tool to break my chains. What I thought would be a freedom lifting me from her, was a needle injected in me as the liquid traveled through my body like a leech sucking my blood, leaving me unable to breathe evenly and see only the blur of my white room./p
p data-p-id="a9b92d3956eac13d57b362544f3f38f5"My head felt as though a great force was compressing it with pleasure. My hands were like jelly when I tried to move them, and so my body./p
p data-p-id="2cb17f4dca8ca5539c23baddf1ba9f2d"I let out an agonized scream as the pain increased. What was he doing? Taking away my ability to move? Was my inability to speak not enough for them?/p
p data-p-id="310e118681bb86a3fb7792b73ffaf843"The blurred white of my room began to darken at the corners like a dream that slowly vanished from a child who learned the sadistic ways of Life. My breath stopped as the pain of my head numbed, until I could not feel its tingling sense./p
p data-p-id="310e118681bb86a3fb7792b73ffaf843"_/p
p data-p-id="7317680de900606a26ff23ef862f2466"strongHello readers!/strong/p
p data-p-id="685c999865a5a04407ee139236d106a8"strongThank you for choosing to read my fan fiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to point at my mistakes. Tell me how it was. Boring? Or eeh?/strong/p
p data-p-id="00e225a383e0bc05bfe4d31970b2408d"strongLeave a comment! They give me motivation to write. /strong/p