Prolouge

Don't listen to her.

the death was instant, they said.

but you can still smell the rot and shit, the smell of the car.

Stop listening to her.

the mans pulpy remains, the brain stuck in your hair.

he was going too fast.

She won't stop speaking,
taunting.

now here you are, in your grandmothers apartments ready to start anew.

The two boys intrigue you, but will they be like

every other male you have met?

will they run their fingers up your spine, whisper

sweet nothings- that make you want to vomit?

hopefully, you can wash away your past. like that of writing in the sand; cleansed by the sea.