/x/, is it ok if I share a story with you? I don't have much to do these days, having scared off all of my friends months ago. I'm not complaining, though. They were right to leave. I was becoming unbearable, and there's only so much a person can take before just getting fed up.

It all started six months ago when I came home for my grandmother's funeral. I remember the day so clearly because it was absolutely cold and absolutely miserable outside. I remember feeling cold air on my cheek and being annoyed when the rain fogged up my glasses. I remember the stale scent of the preserved body in the room. The tears, the food in the kitchen. People talking, laughing, crying.

I wasn't sad. I'd never been really good with death or with dealing with other people. In fifth grade when my hamster died, my mother woke up to find me wordlessly burying it in the backyard.

Judging by the look she gave me, it was pretty clear she thought I killed it. Why else would I be so nonchalant?