She died right here in this goddamn town, presumably miserable and consumed as the others are. This terrible burden pressed upon themselves the moment they stepped foot here, or perhaps it was the moment they realized each others' damning influence.
Regardless of the others, Caro was dead, and the perpetuity of her absence was just another generous push closer off of the cliff. At least, that's how it was for the others–the other kids her age–who were living there in this awfully secluded town. So secluded, of course not by location but in a societal and cultural sense. Church on Sunday appeared to be the most important event one could participate in here, which was completely unfortunate for someone standing in a sort of agnostic configuration, as they were. But that, of course, only heightened the appeal,
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Silverfish
PoetryA compilation of written thoughts, poems, and short stories composed by myself
