Wednesday, 13 February 2008


The rage was white and hot, blinkered like a race-horse but wild as a tormented bull. It was powerful. It came and left so suddenly that for a while after the world was slightly askew. It left her with a feeling of shame and disorientation, her body still tainted by it's presence. After, she prepared lunch and listened to the story of the little red hen. It was better.

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