The day after thanksgiving.
High spirits, cough medicine, wine, family, friends.
Acting host, smiling, laughing, talking.
Visual contact- The Ring.
Mental rewind: Didn't I store that far, far away? How is it here? Now?
Frantic scanning.
"Lynde! Is this yours?"
"...No Laura. Tave gave that to you, didn't he?"
Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic. Panic.
Decision. Determination.
In an instant I'm outside, next to the woods I've always called my own.
A deep breath of the ice cold air.
A tear quietly slips down my cheek.
My arm winds up, pretending for a moment that I am a professional thrower.
The release.
The silver circle flies, in slow motion, through the air.
I don't see where it falls.
I don't want too.
I want it gone.
I want it all gone.
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