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  • Her wallet and jacket were neatly placed by a nearby tree, a tree of magnificent stance, one we would have scrambled to the top of as children.
    Her body was stuck under the frigid debris, in solitary confinement, surrounded by the iced chunks of water.

    Nearby dogs played and frolicked, children relished the sun on their cherry faces, the homeless slept on the local benches.
    Day after day, the clouds passed over the pond, their shapes reflecting on the murky water. Fluffy forms we would have named in sisterhood - giraffe, leopard, perhaps a monster.

    She lay under the water, silent, covered in stagnant lily pads, shielding the world from her demise.
    Algae formed a veil over her face, ducks pecked her hands, turtles made her flesh a new resting place.

    Did my cries pierce her spirit, and cause the waters to slightly part, and send ripples to the shore?
    Did my impenetrable agony rouse her sleeping soul to momentarily reveal her grave?

    Where did the bruises originate, the scratches? Where was the person who had ruthlessly stalked her?
    Where was her hat, the one she always wore. Or her scarf that was always wrapped tightly around her beautiful neck?

    Questions still swim constantly in my brain, claiming to be unanswerable, no one ever daring to stand up to the task.
    I fight to keep my own soul from drowning, or from icing hard with grief - to not to let the questions consume me, or my anger from my assumptions take me to her grave.
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