The Gunshot in the Plot
“I think it’s going to be ok.” ,I whispered to myself. But I wasn’t really alone. I lay in my bed, stock still, but quite comfortable. I don’t think I could explain it to anyone, but I was talking. Words of comfort, both for him and myself, escaped from my lips. I was lost and lonely because a chunk of my heart was ripped out and I didn’t even quite realize it. I felt responsible…For what?.....I didn’t quite now, but I had a wretched feeling that pulled my heart down to my gut so that I might throw up blood instead of words. I had no words to speak, to steal, but to type…yes. Always there was a story to type yet I couldn’t type his fully. So for that reason I type both mine and his for the sake of filling the hole in the plot and in my heart. Oh how my heart has been shot and I died so instantly I couldn’t even wail, cry out, or scream to my fullest length.