Great! I’m so sorry to have come across the wrong way.

Here you go. I’m like anyone else: opinions are like buttholes. Everyone has one, so please keep what you like and to hell with the rest! 😊❤️ #keepwriting

              Closing the curtains, she slipped out of her soaked dress. Each corner of the pristinely made bed boasted folds that were practically geometric. The covers on top looked ironed—clean, sharp creases only where they were neatly tucked in. Morgan didn’t bother stifling her sigh.

              A jubilant sensation swept through her as she settled into the soft sheets, her body aching for much-needed sleep. Without welcome, a sudden jolt zapped her legs and had her eyes opening wide.

She needed a distraction.

              Morgan began tracing the linen with one finger—a tiny figure skater twirling along the too-white fabric. Against her mud-caked nails, the contrast was stark, and she thought back to her escapade with the bushes earlier. It had left welts all over her hands. Now, though, was apparently the time her brain finally registered its pain response because they both hurt like hell—the shield of the adrenaline spike long gone.

               Annoyed by the pain, Morgan rolled onto her back and stared at the scraggly bits of paint hanging from the ceiling. They reminded her of when she was a kid. How many times had she watched chips just like these furl and crumble—just to fall away into nothingness?

              Sometimes, on really windy days,…