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The Sociopath Next Door

The Sociopath Next Door

Gavin

5.0
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11
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Life was perfect for Sarah, an 18-year-old college freshman whose loving parents, Mark and Linda, owned a successful chain of hardware stores in their comfortable Oregon town. That idyllic life shattered when her cousin Jessica's trailer tragically burned down, and Sarah's kind-hearted mother, feeling immense guilt, convinced her father to welcome the seemingly orphaned Jessica into their home. Less than a month later, Jessica, consumed by a chilling jealousy Sarah never suspected, intentionally set their house ablaze, orchestrating a devastating fire that claimed her beloved parents' lives and left Sarah clinging to life with severe burns. In the sterile confines of the ICU, Jessica completed her deadly work, leaning close to Sarah' s bedside, her voice a venomous caress whispering, "It's your fault, Sarah," before silencing her heart monitor and coldly pulling away her oxygen mask, watching Sarah suffocate to death. The last sight Sarah saw was Jessica's triumphant, twisted smile, as her life, her family, and her entire inheritance were stolen, leaving Sarah overwhelmed with a burning injustice that transcended death. But Sarah jolted awake, gasping, in her own bed, her body miraculously unmarred, realizing with terrifying clarity that she was back in time, just days before the tragedy, given an impossible second chance to stop her future murderer.

Introduction

Life was perfect for Sarah, an 18-year-old college freshman whose loving parents, Mark and Linda, owned a successful chain of hardware stores in their comfortable Oregon town.

That idyllic life shattered when her cousin Jessica's trailer tragically burned down, and Sarah's kind-hearted mother, feeling immense guilt, convinced her father to welcome the seemingly orphaned Jessica into their home.

Less than a month later, Jessica, consumed by a chilling jealousy Sarah never suspected, intentionally set their house ablaze, orchestrating a devastating fire that claimed her beloved parents' lives and left Sarah clinging to life with severe burns.

In the sterile confines of the ICU, Jessica completed her deadly work, leaning close to Sarah' s bedside, her voice a venomous caress whispering, "It's your fault, Sarah," before silencing her heart monitor and coldly pulling away her oxygen mask, watching Sarah suffocate to death.

The last sight Sarah saw was Jessica's triumphant, twisted smile, as her life, her family, and her entire inheritance were stolen, leaving Sarah overwhelmed with a burning injustice that transcended death.

But Sarah jolted awake, gasping, in her own bed, her body miraculously unmarred, realizing with terrifying clarity that she was back in time, just days before the tragedy, given an impossible second chance to stop her future murderer.

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The Pop-Up Truth

The Pop-Up Truth

Short stories

5.0

My phone screen lit up, not with a text, but a stark, black-and-white pop-up. "Ethan' s SAT scores: 1580. Stanford bound with Tiffany. You' re the 'just in case' girl." Just moments earlier, my childhood crush Ethan, whose father my own dad died saving, feigned despair over "disastrous" SAT scores. He'd gently coerced me, the valedictorian, to give up my dream school for State College, all for "us." These mysterious pop-ups, visible only to me, had always been unsettlingly, terrifyingly right. This one revealed his calculated deception: he'd aced his SATs and was going to Stanford with his new girlfriend, Tiffany. My heart turned to ice. I was his backup plan, a discarded pawn. The betrayal escalated at his lavish graduation party where he publicly humiliated me, painting my sacrifice as my idea. Then, with Tiffany's cruel suggestion, he trapped and locked me in a dark utility closet. The final blow: he brazenly showed my ailing mom a faked State acceptance letter, causing her to suffer a heart attack. As I sat by her hospital bed, watching her struggle for breath, a cold rage ignited. How could the boy whose family owed us everything be capable of such cruel manipulation? My dad died for his. Why was I his pawn? What were these pop-ups? But in that sterile room, watching his continued charade, something inside me snapped. I slapped him, hard. No longer a confused victim, I saw him for what he was: a manipulative abuser. This wasn't the end of my story. This was the beginning of my fight to reclaim it.

My Brother, My Vendetta

My Brother, My Vendetta

Short stories

5.0

I remember the Orlando theme park vividly, a chaotic backdrop to the day I, Sarah, believed I saved my younger brother, Kevin, from a suspicious beat-up van and the men within. For twenty-two agonizing years that followed, he systematically dismantled my happiness, turning my very existence into a meticulously crafted hell, blaming me for every one of his pathetic failures and wasted life choices. On my fortieth birthday, as celebratory champagne turned to deadly poison in my throat, Kevin leaned close, his eyes glinting with pure, unadulterated triumph, whispering, "You should have let me go, Sarah; this is all your fault." That agonizing betrayal, that final, calculated act of malice, consumed me entirely as darkness quickly enveloped my world, stealing my breath and my future. I died, drowning in his insidious lies and my own complete helplessness, forever haunted by his chilling words, believing my life was ultimately a tragic, unending consequence of his twisted vendetta. Then, with a jarring jolt, I was miraculously back in that exact moment, the searing Florida sun oppressive, the cheerful theme park music grating, fully transported to the very nightmare where my torment began. There he was again, my sixteen-year-old brother Kevin, a familiar cocky smirk adorning his young face, confidently heading straight for the same beat-up van and its sinister occupants. This time, no frantic screams of warning tore from my throat; no desperate rush to interfere compelled my feet forward, no instinct to rescue him remained. A chilling stillness settled deep within my core, an immediate echo of the grave he' d prepared for me, as I consciously embraced a profoundly different path. I watched him climb into the decrepit van, watched its door slam shut on his ignorant bliss, and understood with absolute clarity that my second chance was not for any kind of salvation, but for a justice far colder and more absolute than I ever conceived.

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