| Michelle, palms
pressed to her abdomen, feels the fluid trapped inside... like
clotted cream, she smiles... so warm, she wriggles... gropes her crotch... anoints her finger... sniffs it... starchy,
heady... licks it... salty... lounges in a lovely,
languid, procreative loll. A quiver, then, annuls her sense of
tranquil isolation; drawing knees against her chest, she softly weeps.
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