Alive? by Chante

Alone

The bench I sat on was cold.

Cold and wet. Everything was wet.

But my face burned –

I guess that’s what happens when you cry, huh?

I can’t help but wonder about you. How are you, on the other side of the well?

Are you safe?

Taken care of?

…Alive?

I lean back against the cold glass behind me, waiting for the bus. The wind whipped around my hair and stung my eyes.

At least this way I know I’m alive.

Without you.

My chest hurts again.

Sigh.

Well, at least you’re happy.

Perhaps…

Possibly…

Unfortunately…

With my asshole brother.

Word Count: 100