Sorry I'm Late

This is a short story I wrote for the Halloween competition. It tells the tale of Archie, and the memories he can't forget. She won't let him forget. But who is she? And who's story really is this?


4. The Extension.

I needed to go somewhere. I couldn’t wait for the words to form, I needed to go.  But the pain in my hand was constant, and I knew she wanted me to read it. But I wouldn’t– I would be strong, I would do all the things I never did when she was alive. The pain got stronger, and my hold body began lurching. She always did like playing games. She had a lot of hobbies. She loved a lot of things, I thought bitterly. There was somewhere I had to go, somewhere she didn’t want me to go, but I needed to go there, just one more time. I couldn’t feel my hand, nor my body, nor my mind anymore, but I wouldn’t amount to it. I needed to go to the attic, the place I hadn’t been since the glass and the blood.

Every day, the boy noticed less and less people. But she was always there. “Sorry I’m late,” she said it every day, but she was still never early. He went home with her every day, but nowadays, she walked faster, talked less and didn’t have as much time. She was always on edge, and she always had black powder on her fingers. So he waited. He waited until she would be late and he would be later just so he could find out just what it was she didn’t want him to see. And he would find out. 

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