I have to write this quickly; she told me she'd be back in an hour. But I don't necessarily trust her, could be more, probably less.
I'm writing this to you, darling, because I want some record-some evidence of what happened, and I want you to know how truly sorry I am, but, for the life of me (literally, I suppose), I wouldn't change a thing, even if I could.
I summoned her from the black depths of whatever hell she came from (I believe there's a multitude of them, and she has done nothing to disprove this theory). She was beautiful, charming, caring, attentive. A woman like I had never known. A woman that was too good to be real, right? I think you know the answer to that.
I want you to know, we never did anything...like that. It was totally friendship, a bargain of sorts. I mean, we flirted a little, and if you could have seen her face, I doubt that you would punish me for this slight injustice. But I didn't do anything more. \\
I was lonely, you see. Not in my day to day life, but with my dreams, which were going unfulfilled, fluttering in a laconic breeze. She promised she could help. She gave me ideas, wonderful, amazing ideas that I never would have thought of. I wrote some down, others I expounded a bit into thirty pages of so into a fledgling novel. I would have finished one of them, for sure (such an idea).....but then she changed the rules, a bit. A lot.
Now she wants me to go with her. I don't want to, not really. I'm intrigued, and she promises me that there's a way back.
Again, like I said before, I don't necessarily trust her.
Shoot, fifteen minutes past already....
Ok, I want to tell you what it's like for me, now. I feel her breath on my neck, even when she's not there. When I look in a mirror, I see her enticing features, none of my own. Do I even exist anymore?
Nothing seems real, more surreal than anything else. It's funny, though, I could swear I see patterns in nonsensical things. I don't have time to go into it, and I really don't think you'd understand anyway. I turn a doorknob, the door opens, but it feels like I can run my hand right through the metal, if I desired. Passageways tilt to the right slightly. Always to the right. Don't ask me why. The night sky.....I don't see the darkness, the void of space. Only the afterimage of stars. There's definitely a pattern there. I know there is.
She might be coming, hold on.
Okay, I'm going to wrap this up- I still have to hide it. Again, I want to say I'm sorry. Not for what I did, but what I come back as, that is, to say, if I come back at all. When you find this, and read it, please believe me. Please.
And run.....run as far as you can.
I will miss you.
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Short Story / Horror
Short Story / Horror
Poem / Poetry
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