Lavana Jenkins-Reid
Stories (2)
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All Rise
She woke up in a cold sweat. The perspiration dripped from her curly black rooted, and ice blonde tipped colored hair onto her coffee skin. Her almond eyes could barely open. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in her sleep chamber. She noticed her typically mint-stained colored eyes were now one mint and one grey, and they had extra bags under them. She was physically exhausted. She caught her breath, though, and clutched her chest. It helped her to know that her heart was still organically beating. She thought an organically beating heart meant there was hope. Sighing, she also contended that she had to do something about her night-terrors. She looked over at her dial in her chamber and noticed her automated air dome would be opening soon. That was the only luxury she was still thankful for since the spread; it kept her from falling further into depression. For her to see the sky and live elder trees were a luxury she no longer took for granted.
By Lavana Jenkins-Reid5 years ago in Fiction
See You Later
As I exhale, I relish this part. This right here is what I look forward to, the finale. —This is my exit from the collision into these peoples, now my family's, life. Somehow, I never get tired of getting to this point in our shared journey. Our affair is often short and riddled with tragedy, but our brief connection is a permanent memorial.
By Lavana Jenkins-Reid5 years ago in Journal
