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Post by Raisa Valois on May 4, 2011 7:43:02 GMT -5
I awakened to a day that, to everyone else, was just another day. But to me it was the fifth anniversary of the death of my mother.
It was strange to think that it had already been five years, but I couldn't let myself dwell on that for too long, else I would break down into tears. I rose from the bed and went about my business, the day crawling by as it usually did; the occassional customer coming through, the landlord demanding the payment of the rent that was becoming harder and harder for me to keep paying.
Despite myself, my thoughts turned to my mother's family. Did they know she was dead, these five years past? Did they care? I thought maybe if I'd taken their name, someone would recognise it, and they would come looking for me.
I shook my head at myself. I had to stop dreaming. I had to think of the present and find some more secure way to support myself.
My gaze wandered to the charcoal and parchment on the only table in the room. Five years since the death of my mother, I decided it was time to change my home and livelihood. Saying goodbye to the room that had been home since I was four, I packed the few belongings I had and headed for the East Borough boarding house.
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