Her hair draped down to the park bench. She closed her eyes and a tear hung dead at the end of an eyelash. Her fingers curled and clenched around her sagging seat. She would be the wood's thorn.
Everything was black and white. All color left with her smile. Her teeth clashed and warred. The tear released and lingered down to her dress; a perfect sphere looking for home.
The wind scoffed and her drizzled hair swung into soft reminders. She twitched, unclenched the bench as the blood sifted into her white knuckles and she swiped the wet of her eyes.
She walked. The cobble stones laughed under her feet. Her shoe caught and dared her to fall. She did. Her hands started out to catch herself but she stopped them. She welcomed the wind.
Light caught in the dust and haloed her flattened body. Her weight blended into the earth and pooled beneath her. It looked like blood. She gurgled a laugh. She bent upwards, plowing her hands into the earth. She saw her hair mixed in the red goo and she laughed again. This time more clear.
Red was the first color she had seen since. Her throbbing face the first thing she felt. Her face down bellow the first time she laughed. The world twisted the side of its lips up and she joined it; blood dripping, weighted hair swinging, and the wind at her back.
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