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Chapter eighteen

I could feel everything inside me building up yet I was just turning a valve. It made me think of my mother when she made cookies in the oven. She would prick little holes all over them so the cookies would breathe.  I was just breathing letting out some desperation.

I closed my eyes anticipating each thin cut,  feeling the wash of relief when it was done. When I said I was hurting I wanted to see and touch the place that was hurting,  not just feel it.

" Twain!  Twain" I could hear Luke,  my baby brother yelling from a distance. Nobody was going to rob me of my little world of ecstasy. Everything good I had didn't last and this time round I would fight to keep this feeling.

The cuts were pulsing and looked like ties in a railroad track. Like towers of stairs you would find on stage.  I pictured a parade of ugly people like me and wondered where these steps would lead.

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