short story
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I would rather people just be enigmas to me. Just ideas, just figments of what I can conjure up in my mind; they stay better that way. They respond how I need them to. Their past doesn’t get in the way. It’s just smoke and mirrors. I prefer people that way.
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I heard the incessant tapping on my window. Not again, I groaned internally. I turned over onto my side and grabbed a pillow to squash over my head in hopes of drowning out the noise. Tap, tap, tap. It wasn’t letting up. I peeked at the clock sitting on my dresser a few feet away.
Lashanda Forsberg 