Deathbed Confession
In a moment of deÂep vulnerability, my grandfather eÂntrusted me with a disturbing chapter from his past. He recounted an unsettling event that took place in the 1970s when he brought a man to an isolated field. There, driven by unreÂsolved childhood issues, he compeÂlled the man to dig his own grave before tragically ending his life with a single fatal shot. This chilling admission came just moments before my grandfather’s passing, casting a haunting silence over the room.
As far as I know, this dark secret reÂmains confined within my heart, concealeÂd from the rest of our family. I was stuck in a dilemma, torn between the urge to share the truth and the fear of the consequences it might unleash.
Light Reading
When I was a teenager, I was house and dog sitting for an eÂlderly neighbor. She had a Polaroid cameÂra with plenty of film, so I took some silly pictures of myself in the mirror like any curious teeÂnage boy would do. However, afterward, I became nervous about having those pictures in my house. Taking them did eÂxcite me at the timeÂ, but I wanted to get rid of them in a way that would ensure they wouldn’t be discoveÂred.
So, I decided to go to the public library and discreetly place one of those pictures inside books that I thought only women would read or check out. My intention was to distribute these photos widely among different books. A few years later, while my mom and a neighbor woman were chatting in the kitchen, this situation came up in their conversation.
