[OT] Want to be read? Post your best story here then come back and comment or critique on at least one other story.

"Daddy Daddy you're home!" With open arms, the little girl ran up into his father's arms. "I'm home honey," he chuckled, kissing his daughter's strawberry blonde hair. "Hey sweetheart," a woman wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and walked to embrace her daughter and husband. A loving family. One wife, one husband, one daughter. The perfect house, the perfect home. Everything is perfect, just the way they imagined it to be. "Put your hands up!" The little girl cried, unsure of what to do. "Put your hands up honey," the mother chimed. "Everything will be alright." "Shut up you bitch!" With one rough boot, the gunman grabbed her neck with a crack. She fell limp, her head hanging loosely from her shoulders. "Mother no!" "You son of a bitch!" The father roared, grabbing the nearest stool. "Father!" The little girl screamed. Bang. The blood poured from his chest, as he slumped down onto the carpet. The floor, like a sponge, was now soaked in fresh blood, the smell of putrid iron in the air Ring, ring, ring. The gunman slid his phone. "What the fuck? Really? God, she was going to bring us good money too. Alright, alright." He slid the phone back into his pocket, and aimed the gun towards the girl's head. "I'm sorry, but seems like we don't need you anymore. Sweet dreams" he sneered. Click. Bang. The tears blended in with her blood. "They're dead. It's too late. Let's get a record and some evidence and go. This is too depressing." "No wait, she's alive! The girl is alive! She's breathing! Ambulance now!" The sirens blared, heading down an empty street high over the speed limit. Cars screeched, in a panic to let the ambulance through. "You know how small of a chance it is to survive a gunshot to the head?" The doctor exclaimed, a frustrated look on his face. "8%. The other 92% dies. But let me see what I can do." He probed around, examining the exit wound. "She's lucky. She just might survive. It damaged her limpic system, so I'm not sure how she'll do after she wakes up." The little girl, made of blood and tears, laid on the cold operation table, the only sound to comfort her the beeping of the heart monitor to remind her she was alive. Five years later. "Hello there." The same doctor, now dressed in a white lab coat, entered the room. "Hello Doctor." Her voice was monotone, and her eyes empty. "How do you feel?" "My limbs are functioning well." "No, let me rephrase it. How do YOU feel?" "I'm sure you know already. I've officially told you 358 times." "I'd like you to say it again, please." "I don't feel snything." Like the last 358 times, the doctor frowned. "The limpic system, simply put, controls your emotions. It was damaged five years ago after that terrible accident. I tried doing what I could but I can't find any solutions." The girl smiled. It was an empty smile, but it was the first type of any expression the doctor had seen for five years. "That's okay, doctor. I'm glad I'm this way."

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