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July 3, 2005

Michele: Blood Red Summer

Scratch scratch scratch.

She clawed at the wall, mindlessly engraving lines in its worn surface.

Blood caked on her fingertips like crusted paint. She thought of spilled ketchup and food coloring and all the other things she thought the mess on the kitchen floor was before she remembered - it was her mother’s blood, all sticky and gummy and staining her sneakers; it was her mother laying there, scratching her fingers against the kitchen wall, trying to pull herself up.

She imitated her mother’s movements, right down to the death twitch at the end. Then she started again.

Scratch scratch scratch.

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