They click their tongues in the next room over.


A hushed voice.

Where is she?

I long for the scent of lilac, my favorite, to cover the stench of hatred.

The shadows are my friend.

Just wall, I think, between us.

The chair creaks as one of them sits.


A insistent whisper.

She’s got to be here.

A taste of fresh spring water, sunshine on my face, the embrace of my mother, anything.

Anything to give me strength.

I’m just hiding; waiting.


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