Doubting Honesty. So Ginger was confused, by the pain, and by the tears. What are her choices? She stood in front of the mirror. Her eyes red and sore from her tears, she reached over to her dresser and grabbed a bottle of black nail polish. She threw it hard at the mirror, cracking it into a million, tiny, articulate pieces. She kicked at the mirror with her boots until the glass fell to the ground. From the window, the moon showered it's reflection into one piece of the broken mirror. She looked up to the moon and cursed her gods for not being there for her, and looked back down at the piece. She picked it up and held it in her hand. It was beautiful; the moon. It shown with all extravagance, it's face in full. She took off her shirt and looked at her womb. She was not sure if life existed inside of it, but she would make sure it didn't. She dragged the piece of mirror across her belly. The glass broke the skin, and drew blood, but it was not deep enough. She did it again, and again, and again, and again. Just a lot of blood. Through her tears she saw it all over her hands and on the floor. This wasn't going to work. It came down to one thing. She took the mirror to her womb in one giant stride of her arm. The pain was deep. She bent over in agony, coughing and suffocating from the blood in her throat that was carefully leaving her mouth. She laid down on the floor. In a puddle of blood she met with death. And in a dark, dreary dance, her spirit was taken away into the darkness.

Jen

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