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I was 16

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    • #606 Reply
      Anonymous
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      I was 16

      Feel free to create the tale as you like but any entries which are inappropriate in terms of language, content or style which hurt the sentiments of any being or are of contain explicit sexual content will be deleted.

      Keep your contribution limited to 500 words. Maximum length of a tale is 3000 words.

    • #607 Reply
      Anonymous
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      She stood there. A cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Pinot in the other. Her hair was long, her eyes were blue, she had freckles on her face. My friends pushed me out of the door and said “There’s someone that wants to meet you”. As soon as our eyes locked that was it. There was no chance of looking away, no chance of leaving. My hands trembled as I got closer. I stopped right in front of her unable to find any words to speak. She smiled and said “Iya babe”.

    • #1349 Reply
      @kritiahuja2309
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      Seeing my mother after five long years was tough. She looked the same old perfect. I on the other hand have changed, changed a lot. I don’t appreciate her to be here, to show sudden interest in my life. But I couldn’t control as tears flowed down my cheeks and I ran in her arms.

    • #1530 Reply
      Nachu
      Guest

      But she was cold and distant as ever, tensed up as we hugged. I moved back with a sigh, “Hi ma, why are you here?”
      My mother smiled her signature smirky smile, “Such a cold welcome, Iya dear. Did you not miss your mother?”
      I rolled my eyes remembering all those days I stayed up all night waiting for her, pleading for her to stay when she did come back. That Iya was gone thankfully, I can’t afford to lose myself again. Especially now that I’ve rebuilt everything on my terms.

    • #2141 Reply
      Tushar
      Guest

      But, my mother’s daunting voice gave me flashbacks. A stabbing pain spiked with every word she spoke and I tried to shush it down.
      “I was happy without you, without your wife, without both of your evil acts in the old basement!” I squeaked in rage.
      “Oh honey,” she sneered, “We have to respect the family name, of course. Without making good use of my great stepmother’s ashes, how could we achieve that?”
      This stabbed me further.
      “I still don’t understand why you both obeyed great stepmother’s journal. Did you never realize how idiotic it is to drop vials of ashes with maple syrup into our basement’s hidden well? It’s water must be swampy by now.”

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