Dakoda Barker

  The first comes before you’re old enough to decide. Your parents choose it for you, all lustrous and white to symbolise your purity. You begrudgingly wear it, squirming against the stiff fabric. If you could walk, maybe flight would have been an option. Were you old enough to speak, …

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The door jolts open and clatters against the wall. A brief gasp punctuates the air and then two distinct thuds echo down the hallway. He winces, face contorting; part of him hopes the pain will go away, if only he can screw his face tight enough. Another part—the unfortunate, secondary …

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