The conversation lasted two words. I survived.

That's what I usually told my girlfriends when they decided to end it with me after trying to deal with my post traumatic stress disorder. Those that began in 'rescuer mode' soon realised I was too much for them. The others that either were in lust with me or maybe after my money decided they would put up with anything if it was worth their while. But they all gave up in the end.

The recurring nightmare felt so real. Long empty corridor, bare walls and concrete floor. I saw him approach, tall, the wheezing chest so loud in my ears, the sound of knives being sharpened on stone, the smells of camphor, lavender, not-so-dry-clothes, and those eyes, piercing blue. Yet it was dark, no lights so how could I see it all so clearly. His bad breath on my cheeks as he loomed over my bed, pulled off the bedclothes...........I screamed and screamed.

I am not sure if I can be single, I'm so lonely, so insecure. It is time to find myself a new girlfriend.


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Anglea (joined over 11 years ago)

Six minute story is brilliant as a daily mental excercise to write on a variety of topics. It involves a lot of trial and error before I finish in the given time.

I am often surprised which of my stories receive the most views, often those I planned to delete.

COPYRIGHT - please contact me in advance via a recent story page if you wish to use my stories in anyway.

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Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0


Horror flash fiction psychological


The conversation lasted two words:
Prompt suggested by bespectakate


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