Crash and Burn - sycamore

It had been five days. The nurses were all wearing their sympathetic faces now, likely all too used to seventeen year-olds in all of their withdrawal agony. Each minute, each second was taunting her, clawing at her and beckoning towards the tiny package stashed under the sink. All it had taken was the sight of a woman holding a baby on the sidewalk across from her window, and she had crashed from her forced sobriety. The final image in her blurring vision was not of the white, tiled bathroom floor, but the memory of her own false, fleeting, burning motherhood.

The End

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