An urgent message shouts from her eyes, violently violet, two shades darker than mine the delicate swell of a once pale cheek, bruised to distortion, Clothing and hair, out of place, a difference, unlike her, an indication of something awry, something deeper and darker, Her face immersed with murky sadness, a grief, so pathetic my arms raise to receive her, our hold to eachother, all that keeps us upright, Beneath my chin, and her tension, like a slow curl of a fist, I feel a steely resilience, raising to the surface, as she tugs from my grip, Runny-nosed, smudged my sixteen year old, shoves her shoulders, back, fixes me with a one-eyed glance, meant to be eventful "Come on" she says, we have to go to the police, "there’s a full moon," and I know who he is…"
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