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The Thicket Swing
The fabric silk lingered in the wind, the bow it was formed into skimmed with the breeze. Two yellow ribbons tied up tow leveled braids, two honey brown braids. The ribbon stroked her cheeks with their prolong tails, color ignited her green eyes. The yellow ribbon danced in her eyes, it moved the iris to different locations, different channels and levels it made her beautifully iridescent. She laughed covering her bare aperture, by letting he dimples show. Her neck held the nipple of an argent circle, it resembled hope. She scudded with purpose in her stained denim overalls, wearing only a milky t-shirt under.
A thicket plank tied to two raspy pieces of cordage, she remembered that it pricked her when she swung for a great amount of speed. The swing hangs from an oak that grows every year on top of a ridge from her family's plantation. She skittered to the jagged board sitting carefully taking the twine in both hands. Breathing in the crisp air and closing her ignited green eyes she began to swing.
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