Staring at the clinically clean pages of her life, she sighed. They have always intimidated me. Every time I wanted to write a love story it turned in to a tragedy, she thought. Now I will leave them blank, as blank as blank can be. Her fingers tightened around the trigger and one shot rang out. The pages were clean no more, all spattered with her blood.
All the rants and raves from a brain that has endured decades of anthropological abuse.
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