Day of the Dead.


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9. 4:00am

We could hear them start to go back from where they came. Where ever that was. Hiding from the sun. And the next morning we would get up and stand in the street. And watch each other. And grin. And pretend like we had all survived something great. ​But we hadn't. 

It happened every year. The same thing. But something different happened this year. Something no one knew about. And I was supposed to just smile and pretend it never happened. Never. Let the sun rise. I won't smile. I will walk into the streets barefoot and swear under my breath to my parents who didn't lock the door. For us who didn't check. For the nearly gone marshmallows. 

Then I would go to my room and sleep. And wake up for dinner then sleep again. 

And it would happen next year. 

 

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