Monologue
Haunted by The Dead
Make sure she is not pregnant before you kill her
TRIGGER WARNING:
This story contains a content that might trouble to some readers, including, but not limited to, depictions of and references to death, suicide, cutting, violence, self-harm, vivid nightmare imagery, substance abuse, homelessness, childhood trauma, and PTSD.
Please be mindful of these and other triggers, and seek assistance if needed.
A postman paced back and forth in front of a large house, clutching a small box in one hand.
“No, it can’t be, it can’t be. I’m in trouble” the postman muttered, biting his finger. He walked toward a white door, then abruptly turned back and hurried to his car. Glancing back at the house, he walked swiftly, his eyes occasionally darting towards the looming structure. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his complexion turned pale. His fingers tapped nervously on the small box.
He stared at the box, a small red package sealed perfectly with white tape. His name and address were written neatly on top of it.
“This can’t be real. She can’t be real,” he insisted, clinging to his disbelief. He opened his car door and once again cast a wary glance at the house. Then he swore, “I…
