Able

 

It wasn’t hard to walk away.  She simply placed one foot in front of the other and did not look back.

Of course she knew that for some, it would have been impossible.  The guilt would destroy them:  they’d slit their wrists or hang themselves.  Others would go mad:  the carnage and the screaming would lead them to gauge out their eyes and rip off their ears.

But not her.  She had the one thing that would help her perservere:  a souvenir.  It was tattered and bloody, but as long as she held it, she wouldn’t look back.

She would move forward, step by step.

Until it was time to look for a new one.

 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  © ELIZABETH MICHAUD JOHN

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