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Cracks

Yesterday, I was riding in the passenger seat of an old Mercury Gran Marquee, reading the last book in the Darkest Powers Trilogy. My grandma, whom I call "Nana", had picked us up at 8:46 A.M. to spend a week at her house. My parents like to get rid of us whenever they can.
As I was griping at my eight year old sister about who gets the computer first, I glanced over. I had forgotten the windshield had one long gash that went across it, with a few scratches branching off. And so began a thirty minute ride of partial paranoia.
I have this unwanted...ability, I guess you could say. I basically see how many realistic worst case scenarios I can imagine in a set period of time.
As I read, I would glance up at the windshield between pages. About twenty minutes into the trip, I finished the book. My gaze was locked on the windshield the rest of the way. As I stared, I noticed how in certain lights, the cracks looked like they had water flowing through them. This intrigued me.
For once, I was sad to pull up into the driveway.





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