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Confessions - USUK Chapter 1Some people have goals in life, y'know, like to be a doctor...or to be rich. I have a goal too, and no, it's not to be a doctor or to be rich. It's nothing really of materialistic value, nothing of monetary value. No, not something spiritual and religious either. I once was with him, unfortunately, I was stupid. I was so stupid that I left him. He practically raised me, well in fact, he did raise me. As I grew older, my romantic feelings toward him grew stronger. Oh how I love him. He was mine and I was his. I never told him how I felt, though. Sometimes it felt like he was smothering me, giving me too much un-neccesary attention. It felt like...like he wanted me to become exactly like him. Pushing me to wear things I didn't want to wear, pushing me to act a certain way, pushing me to be almost exactly like him. People say he's my father, or even my older brother. No, just a man that raised me. Why do I have romantic feelings for him? I don't know, theres just...something about him. Ho
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Talk with a StrangerA Talk with a Stranger
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Arthur had never had an easy life, like many people he struggled seemingly everywhere he went. However, now he had hit rock bottom, he was homeless and penniless, he was merely twenty and had absolutely nothing to his name. He slept under a small bridge where he sometimes saw a few prostitutes and drug dealers waiting for their usual customers. That was how he met Francis Bonnefoy, a French man at the end of his rope just as Arthur was, however, Arthur steered himself away from both selling himself and drug dealing, he was a good man and couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he sat on the streets during the day and begged for a few pennies for his meals. Often he got nothing, but he was used to the dull ache of hunger. He slept mostly out of the rain but he always seemed to have a cold, today however he had been lucky; he had gained quite a bit of money so was able to buy himself a decent meal with enough for tomorrow. Arthur wasn't happy with his life, far fr
London Bridge Chapter 1Disturbed.
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Something about that word projects a feeling of fear and doubt among the weak hearted population, causing them to look over their shoulders to see if anyone with a pick ax is going to hack away at their exposed skull. Their heartbeat quickens, panic levels sky rocketing, blood boiling, breaths becoming shaky and shallow as their eyes dart around the room in an attempt to calm themselves down, to get them out of a state of mass hysteria and chaos, and into a mind set that is truly tranquil. A place where panic, agony, and torture are just words compiled of useless letters, unnecessary and unclean additions to the English language.
But what happens when you become someone that fantasizes about your own kinds demise? Does that mean that you're sick, twisted, disturbed? But you see, once it's in your head, you can't stop thinking about it. Thought after thought, scenario after fucking scenario, and it's still there, in the back of your conscious, haunting you until you h