I Want to Be a Professional Writer

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    Prologue The black water trickles through

    the tendrils of her auburn hair. The effect is bewitching, as if a jest at her immobility; a reminder of her mortality. Her hair dances beneath the icy surface of the river; the only part of her that moves now. Who is she? I wonder. Was her existence as chaotic and terrifying...
    colbyw93 colbyw93
    22-25, M
    Feb 25, 2014
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