The energy for writing can come from many places. Sometimes it’s for the sheer joy of it. Sometimes it’s the adrenaline rush of an external, or self-imposed deadline approaching, other times it’s the siren call of the Muse, demanding that a particular story be written. This one was none of those. I was angry at the world, and I used my writing as outlet for it. I fueled my creativity with fury, and it turned out to also be good therapy at the same time. I wrote it in early 2014, but it didn’t find this final form, and title, until almost a year and a half later.
Content Warning: Loss of agency, bullying, confinement.
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