powerless.

She didn’t want to be right.

She didn’t.

She prayed, and hoped, and prayed, that she wasn’t right.

But she was even more certain now that she was.

Her head sank into her hands as she stared blankly down at the sand, willing the image to go away. Willing the truth to be washed away.

The sky cried the tears that horror and revulsion barred from her eyes.

Perhaps, perhaps it was time to write again.

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