"I'm pathetic." I took a swing at the bottle, letting the warm waterfall enter my body.
"No, you're not." She pursed her lips and slowly yanked the bottle out of my hands.
"If someone threw me into a landfill, I'd thank them as I would drown in the trash." I yanked it back.
She sighed and crossed her legs, burrowing her head into her arms.
"I know you're getting tired of me. I know you keep trying to make me feel happier, but it isn't working. No matter what anyone does, it doesn't work. I'm destined to die."
"Isn't everyone? We're all going to be decaying in a few years. We're all going to be part of a faded history, in which when aliens or 'new humans' look back on and say, 'maybe nothing existed in this year.' We're all going to be dead. Dead. Don't you get that? We're all destined to die but before we do so, we must leave our traces behind. We must use our minds, our souls, to use our aching fingers and climb out of the landfill of hatred and pain. We're invincible."
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
