Thursday, April 27, 2017

Fiona

I remember you.

18. Make lean. In between. I'm sorry there's no one here to take your call.

Dingy light shines around a moderately clean curtain. Fiona stands in her kitchen feeling for the motes of light that dance and sway and tell a different story from yesterday.

I cannot help you. I cannot help myself.

I've talked to Trey, isn't that what you wanted? I don't want you, you don't want me. So leave.

What do you mean, they're coming? Who's them?

Who's there?

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