No I In Risk

I really don’t know how this happened, it definitely didn’t seem like I should be here. Under God’s bright sun there are people more deserving of this arduous torture. There is no escape, not even a light on the horizon. My life has become something it can never recover from. I am the subject of intense experimentation. I fear my body may not keep living on past this moment. Fear itself has taken over.  I am lost in this paradox of needles, anathesia and broken lawn chairs. I can only assume I am in the attic of some Beverly Hills mansion. There are heirlooms here that I could not even describe. I am lost in the mediocrity of my life. Wealth and importance lie in this very room. It makes me wonder what I am doing with my life. I’m a failed writer who blogs to expand his self esteem. My site, ‘’ is the least viewed in it’s genre. Maybe I struck a raw nerve with my last entry. I posted some fairly uncensored images of female politician and activist Emily Fineheart. Her ‘activities’ with tennis star Roderigo (he has no second name) were rumoured and denied. A private detective friend of mine took the images and passed them onto me. My scathing blog was un-noticed. The few that saw it deemed it “fake and gay”. Heart broken, I went for a long cry and a stroll around the block. Next thing, I knew, I was here, tied to this chair with some cheap yacht rope. I used to be a risk assessment manager before I took my GCSE B at English Language and become an author. My novel, ‘NO I IN RISK’ was the worst selling book of the year. It only sold a couple of copies. My mum swears that she had nothing to do with it.

By theryangoodman Posted in Stories

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