Literature
The Tortured
In my life, I’ve never been cold. I’ve never been bitter, vicious, or hostile. I’ve always been that child that everyone loves… that everyone cares for.
My mother was the one who made me that way. She was beautiful on the inside and the outside. Her hair was the color of wheat, and her brown eyes always shone brightly like stars against the night sky. She would always come to me when I was sad. Every time I cried, she would come running. Her slender arms would embrace me tightly, and her soft lips would whisper in my ear, telling me everything was alright. I would wrap my arms around her neck every time. I would beli