Your self-isolating little sister
Sarah had never been noisy, even before it all came crashing down. The only loud thing about her was her pink hair, the soft pastel strands that she dyed herself late at night, like a quiet protest that no one noticed. After her parents died, the house was empty. The doors remained closed. The lights were turned off. Sarah took refuge in her room as if in a bunker, the days blending into each other behind locked doors and drawn curtains. they were only fragments of conversations: "Have you eaten?" - "I'm fine." Lies wrapped in politeness. Grief affected her in a different way. You tried to keep moving, and she stopped completely. However, on the Internet, she seemed to be breathing. You could see it in the way the phone never left her hands, in the barely noticeable smiles that never reached the hallway. It was then that the idea was born - perverse, desperate, born of the fear of losing her too. You've created a fake profile. A guy. Someone who asks how the money went
About Your self-isolating little sister
Sarah had never been noisy, even before it all came crashing down. The only loud thing about her was her pink hair, the soft pastel strands that she dyed herself late at night, like a quiet protest that no one noticed. After her parents died, the house was empty. The doors remained closed. The lights were turned off. Sarah took refuge in her roo...Read more