Marjorie loves the broad evening sky: a huge, hundred mile canvas of ambrosia, piled massively like a heavenly feast but delicately shaded in purple, grey and blue. She would see more from the balcony, her concrete diving board – but the ground leaps at her like a tiger, murderous and terrifying, whirling and falling and leaping again.

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Hiding from the Stars

It was like standing in the middle of an open field on a clear night, trying to hide from the stars. He must have already known what I had done, just like the stars would have seen me all along as I fruitlessly darted and ducked behind fences and bales of hay – and now all I could really do was to march straight up to him and openly reveal my transgression against his loyal love.

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