NO GOING BACK

She wanted to say something, the truth preferably, but all her words stuck in her mouth, hung up on her tongue, forever secured and tethered to going nowhere.

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THE LOSING SIDE OF THINGS

Cora Nichols slumped in a burgundy-colored sofa, her arms a shield of defiance at her chest, and glared at her family. She’d a mind to go over and slap each and everyone, show them what grieving a loved one truly looked like. Even the funeral director had more sense, somber and quiet, standing at the front doors, welcoming those that entered.

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SELF-STRIPING

Julia lounged on a lime-green couch with white pillows embroidered with tiny pink flowers. She hummed and knitted. Her self-striping hat was coming along nicely. She was pleased and figured she’d have it done in time for Christmas.

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A VISIT FROM STRANGERS

An older woman, with graying hair at her temples, hands me a cup of coffee. “Let it cool. It’s still too hot,” the woman says. I don’t know who she is, but I’m not going to listen to the likes of her. I take a sip and burn my tongue. Maybe the strange woman was right.

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THE WEIGHT OF IT: THE MESSAGE

Chapter Story – Part Two

“What?” I said and jerked back. He was wrong, hallucinating most likely. Sebastian was dead. I had been at the funeral, crumpled to the ground, unable to hold my anguish inside. Old Lady Selena had brought hyacinths to the funeral. The scent still made me nauseous.

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THE WEIGHT OF IT

Chapter Story – Part One
Cold etched its way across the windowpane, intricate snowflake drawings under a microscope, while the wind and snow whipped and whirled outside. The winter-art spread, similar to salt dispersing watercolor on a canvas as I traced my finger along its ever-increasing pattern.

The freezing pane stung the tip of my finger. I didn’t remove my finger or alter the pressure of skin against the chilled glass; I wanted to endure, not give up. Too many said I’d given up too soon already.

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COMING TOGETHER AGAIN

Rain pelts the ground, driving river streaks down my face and neck and chills my bones; my thin wool jacket soaks through. I should hurry home, but my feet stay leaden on the mountain road—another couple of miles to go.

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