July 8th, Year Three

Bang! He pulled the trigger.

I know nothing when my heart stands in the way of the truth. I followed a path, lined with red poppies down to the end. There, I found a hole that led to the center of the Earth. My voice echoes from down below.

Richard regales his admirers with tales of my psychosis, as he calls it. They laugh at the woman with long limbs. She was easy to bed, he says. Her father should know, he says. Abused by her own blood, her worth is practically nonexistent, he says.

The world knows Richard as a practical, honest, and sensible man. Now, they know what has left a mark on me. When he was done handing my secrets to those who would take them, Roxanne was there, patiently waiting to become his lover. He did not turn her away. Not that night.

There is fire to be breathed out, but no force to aid in the process. My energy has been drained with a swift and powerful kick. Love is a thing not to be given away with such facility. Love is a dangerous thing in the hands of a natural criminal, a sinner crafting new ways to offend as a hobby.

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July 8th, Year Three

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