Lost was something she felt all the time. How do you know what that one choice was that snowballed you into this inevitable reality? This fate where you’re sitting next to empty, greasy, Chinese take-out cartons and squishing ants under your fingers just to feel powerful for once. Stinky, nasty dirty floors. Moldy gray-green walls. Die, ants, die. She knew he was coming soon. She didn’t know what time it was, he had turned off her power, but the sun was finger painting the clouds.
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There’s Always a Calm Before the Storm
Published August 5, 2012 by Jourdan
The whorls in the wood of the dock felt good underneath Alexa’s tracing fingers. The warmth from the sun soaked planks was soothing against her cheek. She sighed softly. She could lie here forever. She wished she could press herself hard enough into the wood that she would become a part of the dock, an eternal observer of the ever-changing ripples of the lake’s surface. She could be the keeper of the myriad of stories told through the many feet that trampled the swollen, damp wood.
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