Truth Be Told

By: Holly Ryan

My mind drifts away.

I open my eyes again. My phone is lying next to me on the pavement. Its glass screen is shattered even more than I am, the cracks forming a constellation of creative horror. I doubt it still works. I pick it up, with that same hand, and press the Home button. It lights up through the shards and missing pieces. I squint; I barely make out the word MARA running across what remains of the screen.

Mara. That’s right. How long has she been trying to reach me?

I can’t think for too long because my forehead throbs. I instinctively touch it, wincing. Then I pull my hand away. My fingertips are red. My forehead, and I presume the rest of my face, judging by how it feels, is covered in blood. I stare at the red, and then, with no effort on my part, my eyes close once again and I continue to forget.

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