on July 6, 2015 :
A story about a misguided child's equally misplaced guilt, and overreaching sense of morality.
Reading through this was like trying to read someone's heartfelt account about the utter horror they felt after dropping a Poptart on the floor.
"How could you?" her mother would surely say upon discovering this heinous act.
"The poor factory workers... what would they say if they heard about such selfish waste?"
So, with a flourish, the guilt-ridden girl signs her last letter. "My life is over. The only way I can fill this empty, roughly Poptart-shaped void in my life, is to fill it with death. Do not mourn for me. Mourn for the Frosted Brown Sugar and Cinnamon Poptart on the kitchen floor. I'm so sorry".
With that, she steps off her stool, the rope going taut around her slender neck.
(review of free book)