Monday, January 16, 2012

Thousand: Six Hundred Twenty-Eight

left holding her jacket that she wants to rush up and snatch it back. But this one’s arms are slack at its sides. The girl even glances at the floor to see if the jacket is lying there, dropped when the figure lost interest. But, of course, nothing but the reflection of flourescent light glares back at her from the tiles. The girl steps around to the white box, fishing out her gold box as she kneels. The lid is up. Inside, as in the last room, the box seems filled with nothing. The overseer must have opened it. Is

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