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.

 

 

The door...

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