The sun was only just beginning to set as I walked through the Paris streets, the streets where I had seen so much joy and laughter, so much misery and horror. But before I could commit my final exit and end my time on the surface, I had to make sure someone knew of my dying breaths in order to prove my destruction to the authorities.
I found a payphone by the side of a local café, where men had just begun to take off their jackets and drink their whisky. As much as it pained me to do so, I decided to call Genevieve.
Oh God reader. I want to emphasise how deep my desire was for her not to be the one to discover my death. But I hadn’t another love in the world I could call. Mother was stubborn. Father was most likely drunk. My work associates had no doubt forgotte...
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