Garnet pulled a loose thread, widening the ladder
in the sweater her mother had knit. She tried to remember mum’s blonde
curls bouncing as she laughed at a joke. Garnet had been funny, then.
But the image would not come, supplanted by cornflower blue eyes wide
with fear, body tilting at sickening angles as the car spun on
grease-slicked road, rolling over and over, filling with smells of piss
and blood and smoke.
Garnet had crawled from the crumpled
wreckage of her life, just inches from the cliff. Freed from the
hospital at last, it was time to go over.
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