naoquerofalardesexo
Maria Nicanor

misfit toy

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14 novembro 2012


When she made her way to the big picture window that framed the dining room table she froze. 
She stopped breathing. 
The anger was growing again.
It grew up into her throat, where she could taste it, coppery like blood, in the back of her mouth. It grew down into her stomach, where it knotted her intestines. It made her arms stiffen and her shoulders lock. It pushed against her ribs until she felt they would snap like sticks.
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