Personal Narrative: Fragility

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Fragility at its Finest Bruises littered my body like flowers in the beginning of spring. At first only one or two buds popped through the soft ground, but as the season progresses you can see a flower every foot or so. I tried opening my eyes but the tenderness around them prevent me from opening them more than a slit. I hear crashes coming from downstairs and I force my breathing to remain normal. My heart rate spikes from fear when I hear footsteps coming up the old wooden stairs. I slowly get myself into a sitting position on the hard floor. Every part of me screams in agony, but I only allow myself a squeak before clamping my hands over my mouth. If she were to hear me, I’d be in more pain than I already am. The air shifts in my room
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