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She Killed: A Narrative Fiction

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I see her every Wednesday morning as we drive past the line of busses. You cant miss her, the flames in her mere gaze claw at your wrists. They’ll leave a silent sob loitering in the back of your throat, a burn that fights before being extinguished. She always sat in the back, Waiting for the warm hands of dawn to reach her window. The glass was a picture frame, she was frozen in time. It framed the rest of the children running down the steps to meet their friends, Pushing each other playfully as they walked towards the school entrances. She would watch them, craving to turn back time. The poisonous envy scorched her alive. She wished for happiness more than the stars wished to see the sun. Sure, she was smiling, but don’t let that fool you.

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