(Thirty days, thirty stories, three thousand words. It has been a pretty hectic month, and although I cannot say that my writing has been anywhere near brilliant, I am pretty proud of myself for actually reaching the end here. I think I’ll do this again next year because, frankly, this has been really fun.

I’ve always loved stories by people on the other side of things – murderers, thieves, the unfaithful, the deceivers. I think it’s because I’ve always been the quintessential why-kid, and their sides have always been neglected in some way or another. This is my way of understanding.)

The blinds are half-open – a car’s headlights shine through, painting the room in vivid stripes of light and dark. I laugh under my breath. It is a ‘prisoner’ room – how fitting.

He groans in his sleep, and I look at his face. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenched – the sleep of a troubled man.

Troubled, innocent, cruel, lonely, romantic, insane – I have seen them all. Though all are different, they are also the same – they look for me, and that can be for one reason only.

It is so that they may escape, while I lie trapped under their weight.

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