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“So, it was you who was behind all this?” Reasha was trying to calm her nerves. She was right in front of the man, she would so like to kill with her own hands, or perhaps worse, throw him in the washing machine.
Everyday as the washing machine tossed and drizzled, trickled she just wanted to always imagine that one man she would want to drown in that drum, cleaning all the pieces of flesh, removing the grease and blood, wringing them clean of sins.
“Everyday the sun rise
makes you so wise.
But then you know your size
as you go out in the world beautiful and nice.”
The man on the other end of the desk stuffed the butt of the cigarette 🚬 into the wooden 🕳 hole on the desk, meant for people who smoked joints and cigarettes. There was no ashtray around except the hole in the desk.
“Ahh! poesy. The man who destroys can also create, WoW! amazing.” Reasha clapped sarcastically.
“Creation is not far from destruction, girl.” Dawn pointed his index on Reasha and his eyes did not at all exhibit any sort of embarrassment or guilt, rather a sense of achievement sat there in the white of his aging, wrinkling eyes.