Writing?

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Short story by yours truly 💅 (TW: swearing, idk,) I open my eyes. I’m drowning. In space, in solitude. I can’t hear anything, but it’s all so loud. It’s so fucking loud. I scream, but no one hears. The walls tell me I’m alone, like always. I know if I stepped outside here no one would give a shit, they’d never notice me. Right now they think I’m dead, but I was in the room when the news were delivered. I was there before through the search parties, and the crying. Well, my crying, nobody else cried. They all smiled, with that eerie grin that lives on in my nightmares. They all forgot about me in a week, I stayed though, pleading for them with a hoarse voice and blood shot eyes to- to just fucking look at me. They never did. I feel sick to my stomach. Why can’t they see me? Why can’t they see me? Why can’t they see me? They don’t hear me either. I’m some distant memory to them. It’s been a 4 years in my personal hell. I see me, I see that when I look in the mirror nothing’s changed. I still look 12. I don’t think I can take being alone here anymore, with people who care about me. I hope they care about me. Maybe they cared about me when I was still seen. I wonder every night, curled up on the couch (since they trashed my room and everything in it), what made them stop seeing me? Hearing me? Did they do this or did I?
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