Someone once told me that hell was other people.

Working there, I knew it was.

I could tell a story. Of toxicity, of tension, of fear.

I could tell a story. Of manipulation and puppet masters, people who are proud of the chess pieces that they try to marionette.

He thinks that were friends.

With his paragraph long texts of faux concern.

With his thinly veiled gossip, his complaints, his talk of being in a better place.

It is a better place when you choose to leave.

It is the only place when you are shuttered out.