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Weekly Contest #179
My mother was dead, and only now did I know. As I watched from the battered living room archway while she popped the cork to her second bottle that night and filled the contents of some stale yellowed glass, I numbly buzzed. My emotions were delayed, stuck like a dammed river in my mind. Their waters were still and stopped up with a mix of betrayal and hurt, but I could feel somewhere far down in the bottom of the river in the sediment of my conscience, there lay guilty relief. Relief that this would all be over, and each time I inhaled, the...
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