When the dead boy moved in next door, I thought he was cute. He was only outside for a second before he ducked into the shadowed apartment. He kept the blinds down and the doors locked; we only heard him move around late at night. I took him some cookies that I made from a pre-packaged mix, but he didn't answer the door even though I waited forever. Dad said maybe he wanted to forget, or be forgotten, and that I shouldn't push. I didn't understand, really.
I still watch the window every day. I wonder if he watches, too?
Whimpers From My Bed Of Woe
5 hours ago