Voices
lingering around town. The school halted scheduled hours. Everyone in disarray,
no one safe from being taken. If Winter was the first, who would be the next? If
bad things came in threes, shouldn't I have been the first to make the sequence
complete?
She
was classical. I was more modern pop. I replayed the lyrics to my favorite song
expiration for the beauty. Honest to only wanting to follow her spirit into the
absence of light. Picking through dresses as many as I collected shorts. Her
make up in perfect order, obtuse to the chaos lived inside my room.
My
father figure gave disgrace on my absolute questions on morality and chances of
survival. He looked not down upon me, but beyond. Through the vanishing wisdom
I so eagerly earned. For everyday was a chance to teach and learn about the
alphabet of the livelihood, she escaped from.
S.M. Bjarnson
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