Sativa's life has been a relentless quest for meaning, purpose, and connection. Amidst abandonment, abuse, and trauma, she teeters on the brink. Even as she faces death's grip, an unexpected twist intervenes, unearthing a piece of her past that spar...
Sativa's life in Georgia began with a sense of liberation. Maryland held nothing for her anymore, all the baggage and possessions of her past had been left behind. Now, she found herself in a new chapter, a wealthy woman with the world as her canvas. Nestled in her mid-century modern home in Covington, an hour from Atlanta, she was greeted by a house that needed a full overhaul. Its cracked floors and thin walls were a stark contrast to her previous life, but this was a welcome change from the nightmare she had escaped. Eager to embrace this fresh start, she hired a renovation company, lending her design expertise to guide the project's direction. Amid the hustle of construction, the monotony of her days was replaced with purpose and action.
The renovation wrapped up in just three months, a testament to Sativa's focused supervision. She found herself yearning for more as her days began to blur together in a haze of routine. Bathed in sunlight, she settled onto the window seat, sipping her espresso and contemplating the scenery outside. It was then that a yellow Gwinnett County Department Of Corrections bus pulled up across from the MARTA bus shelter to the left of her house. It immediately drew her attention like a moth to a flame.
The scene that unfolded before her was unlike anything she had encountered before. Armed guards emerged, accompanied by a group of inmates, all donned in white shirts and orange pants. The sweltering Georgia sun was unforgiving on them. Their purpose was clear – each inmate was tasked with a specific duty, from debris clearing to holding a "SLOW" sign for passing traffic. Amid this orchestrated choreography, Sativa's gaze landed on a sixth inmate. A seemingly detached figure. He wiped sweat from his forehead, inadvertently revealing his glistening abs that stirred something within her. He caught her eyeing him down, and caused Sativa to spill her hot coffee. The scalding liquid seeped through her fingers, a sharp contrast to the heat that had just flushed through her body at the sight of him. Embarrassment rushed in as she fumbled to clean up the mess, her heart racing as she stole another glance in his direction.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a silent acknowledgment of their unexpected connection.
Caught in a mix of emotions, Sativa hastily drew the curtains. Minutes later, curiosity pushed her to peek outside again. The inmates were wrapping up their tasks, including the enigmatic sixth figure who had captivated her attention. As the bus drove away, Sativa was left to contemplate what it was about that stranger – an incarcerated one at that – on her very being.
In the ensuing nights, her dreams became a chaotic canvas of emotions, so intense that she sought solace in rituals of candlelight and sage. A week later, like clockwork, they returned. The sky overhead threatened rain as she savored her coffee, gazing at the view that had become an unexpected fixation.
Droplets of rain bounced off the window sill and washed away the filth from yesterday. Sativa's eyes anchored on the orange bus as if she could pull it forward any faster. Metal butterflies pounded against the inner walls of her stomach and she set her mug down afraid of a repeat from last week. The burn on her finger was still healing.
There he was. A magnificent mass of male chromosomes presented in a perfect form of human nature. The rain came down hard but didn't affect the men's system of progress.
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