by Sarah Sharwood
The slap echoed faintly; no one moved, no one breathed. There was silence as she slowly righted her head. She was breathing hard, and my handprint was branded red-hot across her cheek. I was breathing hard, and her words were branded red-hot in my mind.
“Bitch,” she said slowly, thoughtfully.
She had very long nails.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Best Enemies
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