"John? Are you in there?" Drake tapped the pads of his fingers against the glass, his forehead leaning on the window as he searched the trunk for his brother. He was just about to give up before the tip of his brothers blue sneaker sneaked into his peripheral vision. But something was wrong. It had blood on it.
Writing Prompt: Who are you? I don't mean your name, or your job, or your credentials, or your favorite hobbies that you used to enjoy when you had time for enjoyable things. Who is the soul that inhabits your living, breathing, heart-beating body?
Some people just need to step up that ladder and they'll find the light again (meaning some people have to pull themselves outta depression and they'll feel happy again, not you have to kill yourself to see the light