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Grey

After today, you’d think I’d be angry, or sad, or something at least.
I don’t know. I’ve never been angry on the days that play out like this, or not by the end of them anyway.

When all around me people are shouting, backstabbing, hurting, it’s just so easy to get lost in my own self-induced dreams.

Of course, then the inevitable happens:
“What do you think, Nadya?”
And the dream evaporates into the air as I grasp at straws and utter my vague replies, which only enhance the screaming.
“Pick a side, why don’t you?! Stop being so damned grey!”

They always say that. I don’t know why, it’s not exactly a regular insult; but mine aren’t regular friends.

After a day like this, my dark front door with its intimidating lion knocker seems more welcoming than ever. I collapse on my bed, look up at the ceiling and feel…
nothing
I feel blank. Empty. Dead.

More than anything, I feel absolutely grey.

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