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Closet Story

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She clutched her knees tightly to her chest. Her mind, a rumbling thunderstorm of thoughts, hinging with manipulate ideas. She pulled back her sleeve to reveal several tiny, neat scars. Gently the girl touched each one, remembering what had hurt her that time. She swallowed down the tears she could feel coming, and reached for the cold, dark pistol, that she stole from her never reappearing father. Pressing the barrel to her heart so broken; cloudy she counted to three. There was a shot; then she was no more





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