Ella poked her finger in the hole of her tights and tugged a bit until she heard the material give way. Her mother would yell at her. She was rough on clothes. Last week she wore a through her jeans sliding down Cannon Brook Falls. This morning her mother nearly hog tied her, convincing Ella, a tom boy that dressing up can be magical. She watched the run travel up her leg; the end now a hole made larger by her finger. Dressing up inhibited her movement. The tiny heels she wore made her wobble when she walked. There was no way she could possibly run. However, she was able to hoist her strong lanky legs over the lowest branch of the tree and swing. She viewed the world from upside down. She preferred it that way. That is how the run began. Once it started, it wouldn’t stop.
Ella, holding her one broken high heel shoe in her hand, she untangled her hair that fell over her face, as best as she could. It was a lost cause. Knotted. Ella touched her swollen lip with her tongue and drew in the all too familiar taste. Blood. She sat on the pebble-like asphalt in the middle of the parking lot between two cars. Taking a slow breath in, she looked down and noticed the run. Her finger poked through the hole making it bigger. Once it started, she knew there was no way to stop it.
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