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  • It felt like getting the wind knocked out of you. It felt the way velvet feels when brushed in the wrong direction. It was clear and it was alarming. It jarred me into reality like some sort of siren; the tornado-warning-kind, not the songstress-kind. The type of blaring signal that causes people to flee for safety toward their homes, toward their sanctuaries. They take refuge, they wait out the panic and precipitation and watch the hoopla from their cellar windows. If they look carefully enough they’ll spot me through the sheets of rain; running barefoot toward the twister, a lightning rod in my hand — wings sprouting from my back.
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