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cheap-o | by messyowl
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Things like these don't last

I'm sorry for maybe thinking they'd...


But shh tss tss shhh they didn't. My insides were bleeding out through my nose and onto the gravel and Lionel kept saying "lets go, Rory lets go lets go they called the cops." The sky was clear so it was colder than it usually was in November. My brain was connecting with my legs slower, lazier because I didn't understand what was happening.

Lionel started pulling me and I stumbled over a handgun.

(it nearly hit me)

Shh tss tss shh the wind was blowing and I could hear the police around the hill. The bottoms of my jeans were wet with dew and I still couldn't feel my body.

God, heaven forbid, I loved the people who loved God. What a contradicting maniac. She wore a cross around her neck every day until her skin would turn green from the cheap-o metal. Her skin would be green for sure by morning if she laid there in the grass 'til someone found her.

"Where do you think we'd be safe?" Lionel had me at some diner parking lot behind an old truck that never seemed to leave anywhere anymore.

I didn't respond because Lora was dead. She was gonna be part of the ground now and that's all that mattered. She would be the grass that old men mowed every Tuesday evening.

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Taken on April 11, 2011