Removed by the author for purposes of publication.
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I want to be afraid. I want to run away. I want to go back home. But I can’t make myself feel that way. If I can’t feel anything here, then what makes me think that I’ll be able to feel the warmth back home? And what if I go back and the sun doesn’t make me feel anything? What if the color and the warmth do nothing for me anymore? What will I do then? No… I want to keep my memories of that place and that feeling intact. I won’t ruin them by going back to it and finding that it’s not what I believed it was.
I want color again, and warmth, and…
“See, Angel,” he says, his voice cold… hard… real
“Erynn…” he laughs. “So did you…”
She stiffens. “Yes, Alek, I did…”
The pain leaves… The coldness remains
just something broken and beaten… Exactly the way I am feeling.
No... I want to keep my memories
I want to be afraid. I want to run away. I want to go back home
I want to turn, want to run, want to get away from him,
And I still don’t care.
But I want to care. How can this be? I feel dead. Or rather, I don’t feel anything. But I want to. I want to. Angrily, I take another drink.
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