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Weekly Contest #236
I didn’t expect it to work. When I placed the worn photo of my mother and her long-gone sister under my pillow – a photo that had captured them at their most rebellious, most vivacious – some summer night in 1982 – I didn’t expect to be brought back to that very parking lot where the photo had been taken. And yet, that is where my story begins. She was 19 then, and my aunt 23. It would be the last time my mother saw her sister alive: a night that would haunt her for the rest of her life, and in turn, would haunt me throughout mine. My moth...
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