Fourteen. Ola.

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          I lay in my bed. I stare up at the ceiling. White mist swirls amongst the darkness, my mind floating on a river of pain. It's comforting. I can hear muffled crying through the wall. But the tears have already run from my eyes. Run forever and ever. And now I have none left to cry. It's over. It's finally over. And now I don't know where I go from here. My mess of a childhood has come to an end. It's done. It's gone.

         He's gone.

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