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  • Writer's pictureEva Nel Brettrager

All tressed up and nowhere to go.

As I laid back in the wide open field, grass browning from the remnants of summer heat, I imagined myself falling backwards like they do in the movies. Slow motion, perfectly captured. Arms wide, the sound of the air filling my lungs, and it catching in my throat as my back hits the ground. My hair bouncing around my shoulders; my eyes closing. My eyes snapped open as I took in a breath. The sky was black now; not even any light from the moon. She came into my vision above me, yielding an already bloodied knife. She smiled, and whispered, “You have to let go.” The last thing I heard was her cackling as the blade plunged into my chest, and the darkness swallowed me.

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