Where Reality Ends

Where Reality Ends

Gavin

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My SATs were today, the day that felt like it decided my entire future. But then my phone buzzed with an unknown number, displaying a chilling message: "DON'T TAKE THE EXAM!" It was Michael, my older brother, who'd vanished three years ago on the morning of his own SATs. Another warning followed: "THEY AREN'T WHO YOU THINK." Suddenly, my parents' overly cheerful demeanor felt sinister, their familiar faces hiding subtle, unsettling changes. My dad wore his wedding ring on the wrong hand, and my mom' s distinct scar was now on the opposite brow. Every word they spoke, every gesture, screamed that something was terribly wrong. When I finally tried to escape, a long-time family friend, Ethan, ambushed me with a devastating truth: Michael was dead. He claimed it was suicide, and that I was suffering from a severe PTSD-induced dissociative episode, hallucinating everything. My heart pounded as I watched a video of Michael' s funeral, my phone now empty of all his warnings. Was I crazy? Was this elaborate nightmare all in my head, a cruel trick of my own mind? But then, a specific, unspoken childhood promise between Michael and me-a secret about a monster and a particular trip-failed to match. That's when I knew: This "recovery" was another layer of control, a sophisticated simulation orchestrated by the very person pretending to help. I wouldn't let him win.

Introduction

My SATs were today, the day that felt like it decided my entire future.

But then my phone buzzed with an unknown number, displaying a chilling message: "DON'T TAKE THE EXAM!"

It was Michael, my older brother, who'd vanished three years ago on the morning of his own SATs.

Another warning followed: "THEY AREN'T WHO YOU THINK."

Suddenly, my parents' overly cheerful demeanor felt sinister, their familiar faces hiding subtle, unsettling changes.

My dad wore his wedding ring on the wrong hand, and my mom' s distinct scar was now on the opposite brow.

Every word they spoke, every gesture, screamed that something was terribly wrong.

When I finally tried to escape, a long-time family friend, Ethan, ambushed me with a devastating truth: Michael was dead.

He claimed it was suicide, and that I was suffering from a severe PTSD-induced dissociative episode, hallucinating everything.

My heart pounded as I watched a video of Michael' s funeral, my phone now empty of all his warnings.

Was I crazy? Was this elaborate nightmare all in my head, a cruel trick of my own mind?

But then, a specific, unspoken childhood promise between Michael and me-a secret about a monster and a particular trip-failed to match.

That's when I knew: This "recovery" was another layer of control, a sophisticated simulation orchestrated by the very person pretending to help.

I wouldn't let him win.

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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

Short stories

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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