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The rain beat at the window like a thousand tiny fingers. She lay, motionless, listening to the sound.

The more she listened, the more she felt like crying. It was as if the rain was filling up the hole inside her, then brimming over and spilling. An unstoppable flood.

The back of her hand itched. She turned her head and tried to ignore it.

She wanted to go home, more than anything. Lie in her own bed. Hear the rain on her own window.

But it would never be the same.

© Kari Fay