It sounded harsher than she meant it to. It shattered silence. It shook the plates shelved against gray walls in the dining room when she walked in.
"And I've done it again."
Round hips and big thighs beat back and forth as she pounded across the tiled floor. It was powerful, her vicious energy, and it burst like magic from every muscle and every bone.
"I'm home, I'm home." She said it to an empty house. Deserted, piling up dust for three years. Empty places smell of days long gone, left in dirty masses on old floors. This place reeked of it.
There had been as many good days as their had been bad, for most of the time, at first. But the thought of any of those times stung now just the same.
A mirage of childhood tarnished by reality in these very walls, and it stinks of that too. That is the stink that makes your stomach hurt and your heart ache all in one.
Chicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird.