This morning I couldn’t get out of bed. The cold fall chill had crept through my windows and settled around the carpet of my bed, peering up at me, challenging me to wake up. The blankets like little cuddle demons wrapped me into sleep comas. Stay here, stay here, just stay here. Just five more minutes, just another five. So I wrap my limbs around the mattress, soak down into the springs, dream another nightmare.

I’m looking at the sky and sipping on my coffee when I start thinking about the girls from High School who broke into the combination locks of our gym lockers and tossed our clothes into the toilets. I remember how we’d come back from running in circles around the small gym, hopeful that our clothes weren’t soaked in urine, or ripped to confetti on the rusty shower floor. The girls who did it made up a story about seeing a ghost and being too scared to even go in the locker room. Instead of there being a rumor of the dimwitted blondes and the case of the urine soaked nike dri fit, we had a horror story about a girl who hung herself from the ladies room and the high school hauntings.

I wonder where those girls are now and if they reminisce about the bullying they did or if they’re just happy and well-adjusted and spend their day on Pinterest making custom dry erase planner boards for their children.

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