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As the soft rebellion gains speed, I feel my whole being stuffed up inside my mouth. I wonder, oh so fleetingly, how I got here. Itβs a forbidden question; the mere thinking of it could open a trapdoor beneath my feet, and if I donβt wipe it away quick enough Iβll fall through. Itβs a rabbit-hole vacuum and I swat the question from my mind. But itβs too late. I see a kid running down the grayest street possible. At first she looks gray, too. But then I see the embers of rage flying off her. She has rivulets of fur trickling out of her sleeves and down the back of her neck, a strayβs three-beat gait. She is not even a she at all, just an animal running, as hard as it can, panting, out of breath.
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