Heirloom
My grandmother was a disturbed woman. I know a teenager saying this doesn’t mean much but she was nutsy Fagan with pecans on top. This woman was always freaking out when we went to see her during the summer. I don’t know why we kept visiting. Mom said it was because she felt bad for her. Dad said it was charity. I thought it was torture. For one she was always seeing things and yelling at us. Shoving us down the halls and telling us to leave. I remember one time, I was looking through the fridge for a drink. She grabbed my arm and tugged me halfway across the kitchen, screaming that I was going to suffocate and to stay away from the refrigerator. I was thirteen; I wasn’t stupid enough to close myself inside a fridge. And I certainly didn’t need her to bruise my wrist and throw me. And heaven help you if you touched the freezer door.
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I’m done, I am so done omg What the fuck did I read.
NOPE NOPE NOPE. I HAVE A LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THESE STORIES. REALLY WELL WRITTEN BUT REASONS FOR MY NIGHTMARES.

















