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Weekly Contest #363
Now, if only I could stop being angry with my mother.Misty sat back in her chair, arms stretched over her head, and looked out of the window. The sun, just barely above the horizon, slipped soft gilt through the silvered mist thrown up by the waves shimmering towards the sandy beach. It didn’t make her feel any better. Her editor required more words. Placing her fingers on the keyboard, she closed her eyes, trying to read the inside of her brain. Blank. Why were her thoughts never helpful when she needed them? She’d had plenty to say last ni...
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