by Quin Browne
Frustrated after reading conflicting opinions, I used bowls of hot and cold water; not like I'd be around to discuss the results. In my mirror, my Doppelgänger; hazel eyes, cropped hair, lips pressed firmly together, she stared back. She blinked, not breaking eye contact, accepting her responsibility... this way, God would punish her... not me. Her blade went deep... one side, then the other. This is about us... we're weary and the possible pain of others was inconsequential. Amazement flared briefly as we discovered cold water worked as effectively as hot when you're bleeding out... definitely proof Google didn't know everything.
Quin Browne misses New York, and wonders if it misses her.