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Part 7 | H E R • P A S T

She wishes she spoke the way she painted.

Ceaselessly.

Obsessively.

She would paint to the point of suffocation.

She would paint herself into nervous breakdowns.

Canvases scattered all over like an art gallery filled with abandoned paintings, each of them having a significant meaning to it, dark or beautiful.

Josephine sat in silence as she inhaled the gray stench. Intoxicating her lungs as it set her mind at ease.

There was something euphoric in her eyes as she took each drag, if she perversely lured on that morbid end to punish those who had caused her pain and endless suffering.

The mother who herself had abused her, had suffered so much pushing and fighting throughout her abusive days and the father whose brain was ill and poisoned addled by corporal punishment and lack of affection towards his daughter...

Every single demon she fights on a daily basis has been put to sleep, her mind calm as deep rivers in the night.

She was at peace.

The illegal substance (weed) that she t
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