The Life And Death Of A Mouse In A Trap
It was the closest thing to a staring contest he’d ever had with an animal, he told me later on.
It was the closest thing to a staring contest he’d ever had with an animal, he told me later on.
“J-J-Just shut up,” he told me, with a little mock-stutter, “this is why you have no friends. You should just stop talking from now on ‘til forever. No one wants to hear your ugly voice.”
I let this settle in for a second before I tell her, “You know what they say. Don’t judge a boy by what’s on his bookshelf.”
At some point, I’ve finally had enough and I tell you how I feel — that I feel like you’re pushing me away, that you don’t value our friendship, and that sometimes you just use me as a placeholder.
If I could write you a sonnet, I would. But you are not the kind of boy who likes things halfway.
Our house becomes unbearable; I begin to suffocate.