Flumes Vol. 2 Issue 2 Winter 2017 | Page 37

Sighing, Lissa kicked at a pebble and missed. Kicked again and stubbed her toe on the ground.

I give up.

Her shoulders finally slid the rest of the way down her back, and she walked across the lot to sit beneath a sycamore tree. The trunk had split at some point, until it shot off in three different directions from where it was rooted in rich black soil. The bark smelled a bit musty, a bit too wet, and the wood was dark with rot. She wondered how long it would be before the city would cut it down. In the dark, she didn’t really mind the smell or the damp, and the tree seemed friendly enough. Comforting— as if it wanted to reach down with its many arms and hold her as the night went from twilight to midnight.

So, Lissa leaned back against the damp bark. Her black t-shirt soaking up the damp and turning a thicker shade of dark. She could call her mom. She could call a friend. They’d probably find her car quickly. Easily. They were used to her, the way she lost everything.

Keys.

Wallet.

Socks.

Her husband.

Lissa was tired of telling the people she loved about the mistakes she’d made. She was tired of being the little-girl-lost. So, she leaned against the soggy old tree and drew her knees up to her chest, put her headphones in her ears, and let the night take over. Music played and only she could hear it. As she listened, she wondered what it would

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