serialized fiction (part 3 of 4)

I decide to stop talking. No one ever answers me and time lapses in ways that makes me forget what I ask.

In order to justify the progression of my introverting the mother continues to tell people I’m on drugs. Listening to the cork of a second red wine bottle pop, I’d hear her telling her friends that she just didn’t know where to turn.

I left the mysterious homestead and woke up in Melbourne. The best part about the city is that strangers are happy to stay strangers. Still, feeling particularly distraught. I collapsed onto a park bench in front of a church. I was starting to forget what I was looking for…

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