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  • Freshly cleaned glass, meticulously scrubbed to perfection. Not one soap sud lingers and light floods through as if there is nothing in its path. She stands there, looking through. The ghosts of her eyes stare back, judging her, despising her.

    She takes a step backwards and they vanish. The road outside looks peaceful despite the overwhelming chaos that runs through its river. The people unaware of her imprisonment or the fear that her own eyes cast into her every time their shadows emerge. She takes a step forward again and the orbs appear. She takes another step forward and they come closer, become clearer.

    Her hands rise in front of her as if to protect her feeble body and the ghost raises its own hands in synchrony. They both wait for the other to make the first move, they both wait for the attack of the enemy, separated only by the sudless, clean glass. She looks around quickly, the ghost might have friends and hers are nowhere to be seen, it’s alone as well, a minor comfort and a known feeling. They wait again, hands raised and eyes widened.

    Slowly, they advance to each other, one step at a time, one breath at a time. She can hear her own pulse ringing in her ear, a warning to flee, but she stands her ground. The ghost looks as frightened as she is, the ghost waits as she waits and both their breaths come quickly, shallowly.

    “One more step” she thinks and she prays that this last step wont be her doom. She takes one last look at the ghost and breaths. Her breath, warm and frightened, precipitates on the freshly cleaned glass, reminding her that her reflection would never get past that clear separator, never beyond those chaotic peaceful cars.
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