glitch
total foid and nigger death
- Sep 9, 2023
- 5,895
David sat alone in his apartment on Christmas Eve, the dim blue glow of his computer screen the only light in the room. Outside, snow fell gently, muffling the sounds of distant celebrations. Laughter and warmth belonged to another world—one he’d stopped believing in years ago.
His usual forum threads were quiet tonight, save for a handful of posts. “Another year wasted,” one user wrote. “The holidays just remind us what we’ll never have.”
David stared at the message, his hand hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t reply. What was there to say? It was true.
His phone buzzed on the desk. A notification from his mother: “We miss you, David. Please call us tomorrow.” He swiped it away. They meant well, but what could he tell them? That he was fine? That he wasn’t?
The clock ticked closer to midnight. David’s eyes wandered to the small box sitting on his nightstand. It wasn’t wrapped, and it wasn’t a gift—it was something he’d bought a month ago, though he hadn’t opened it yet. A quiet resolution hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.
He turned back to his screen, his vision blurring slightly. A new post appeared: “Does it ever get better?” David read it twice before closing the tab. He knew the answer.
Midnight came, the bells outside tolling softly. David glanced at the snow falling beyond his window, cold and silent, and reached for the box.
Merry Christmas.
His usual forum threads were quiet tonight, save for a handful of posts. “Another year wasted,” one user wrote. “The holidays just remind us what we’ll never have.”
David stared at the message, his hand hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t reply. What was there to say? It was true.
His phone buzzed on the desk. A notification from his mother: “We miss you, David. Please call us tomorrow.” He swiped it away. They meant well, but what could he tell them? That he was fine? That he wasn’t?
The clock ticked closer to midnight. David’s eyes wandered to the small box sitting on his nightstand. It wasn’t wrapped, and it wasn’t a gift—it was something he’d bought a month ago, though he hadn’t opened it yet. A quiet resolution hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.
He turned back to his screen, his vision blurring slightly. A new post appeared: “Does it ever get better?” David read it twice before closing the tab. He knew the answer.
Midnight came, the bells outside tolling softly. David glanced at the snow falling beyond his window, cold and silent, and reached for the box.
Merry Christmas.
