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'fly Lawrence Peters
'fly
She stood by the seawall, and it wasn't a perfect day, but it was a good one. She took the book out of her jacket, read a page, then tore it out. The wind was fierce; it blew her hair wildly and seemed like it wanted to tear her slight frame from the earth and toss it into the sea.
She tore the page she'd been reading and balled it in her fist, then let the wind take it. It flew for a moment, then the roar of the ocean swallowed it. She smiled slightly, and said a few words, also lost to the sea.
An old couple, seeing the paper fly into the water, talked among themselves.
"How can she trash like that?" the old man said.
"I'll go say something to her." the old woman said, and let go her husband's arm.
"Dear, pardon me, but what are you doing?" the old woman said to the young one. Something about the way the young woman pulled back her long curly windswept hair told her this was no girl.
The young woman turned and smiled slightly. She held out the book, and the old woman stepped closer to hear her.
"This is a diary of my old life. An old life. Lived for someone and something else. I'm tearing out the pages. I want that time back. I want those days back..."
"And you think by giving them to all this," the old woman rolled her hand towards the ocean, "that you'll get them back?"
"Somehow, some way."
The old woman stepped closer to her, and took her by her slim shoulders.
"Any way you can, anything you do to move forward in your life is a positive thing. By coming here, now, and doing this, don't you see dear, you've already got back every day you ever thought you wasted in there. Let it all go. Page by page, or the whole thing at once, it's all yours now. You've won. Enjoy what's left. Leave the past behind. It's gone."
She let go the woman. And rejoined her husband.
"What was she doing?" he asked. "Throwing away some trash?"
"Something like that. Let's go. I'm cold and need you to warm me."
They walked down the beach, away.
The young woman, still holding the book, kept ripping out pages, and flinging them to the sea, but she didn't bother to read them anymore.
And she was smiling.
It wasn't a perfect day, but it was a good day. The wind tangled her long hair.
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