Claire was an hour advance on her appointment. She was so anxious the night before that she was almost up all night. She’d been edgy that morning, while constantly peeking at the content of the box she bought the other day at the pharmacy. Claire hated it.
Actually, she is terrified by it. She’d always fretted with just a glance of a syringe and had countless times of “runaway victories” and “defenseless defeats” against it when she was younger.
THE MEETING Marilyn Paed Rayray Paris Thu 25th November 2010
The tricycle stopped, I stepped down, and followed the woman who opened the gates of a bungalow. Lights were turned on as we walked towards the house. A tall figure stood as if he had been there expecting us. The door behind us slammed, and the woman went out of sight. Poof.
This must be him. Doubt, that blind mole burrowed down my spine, I steadied my feet, surveyed the place.
“You are Melody, my daughter?” He lit a cigarette, puffed on it and emitted circles of smoke blending with the breeze of the dawn.
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