by A. Ruiz
The drugs were working, I could tell because I didn't care. Didn't care that I thought my Dad was dead. It's their job to balance out the chemical imbalances in my brain, to make me not care, which is why I won't take them again. You're not supposed to feel okay, thinking your Dad is dead. That is what really scared me, the possibility of that day coming and it feeling like nothing. Feeling like every other day; just shrugging.
A. Ruiz is currently working on replacing the manuscripts, short stories, poems and novels that are currently kept in a shoe box in the back of her closet with rejection notes from publishing offices (until they cave in and send her some congratulatory acceptance letters instead).