They say that if you hold a statues hand, and they're your soulmate, that they become human. Maybe it's just an urban legend for Charleston, but every girl has held the man in the center of the squares hand at least once.
Except for me that is.
It was late at night, after a particularly bad beating where I was staring up at the statue with a black eye and bruised ribs. It was stupid, yet there I was, staring at his empty eyes.
Crossing the watery fountain floor,
and slipping my hand within his.
Suddenly, I'm not so alone anymore.
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