vine


After they captured my sister and me, they put us in a cramped, dark crate that smelled of urine and fear.


Somehow I knew that in order to live, I had to let my old life die. But my sister could not let go of our home. It held her like a vine, stretching across the miles, comforting, strangling.


We were still in our crate when she looked at me without seeing, and I knew that the vine had finally snapped.

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