Solomon is in therapy

bruised cut and bleeding she lies on the floor, the small eyes stare from under the table what happened, his mind dented, a memory that won’t erase easily. She wipes her face looks at her hand, examines the blood on it then she see’s, it wasn’t meant to be like this she sighs, she takes him to her arms, her blood on his back as she tries to smother him lovingly, stuff a little child should not see.

Solomon listened, he was reading the story of a fallen hero, who never knew he was one of the addicted, Solomon

remarked, this has been going on for fifty years, well, only those with the cash can afford therapy.


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