s*t*a*r*s 7 - pt 107

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Because my loyal s*t*a*r*s readers catapulted the story to #1 on the thriller rating section, here is your “extra” post.  We’re also #78 in the teen fiction and we are almost at 400,000 reads, rock on, dot com!  Enjoy the new beginning……….

 *s*t*a*r*s – 7


 Acquitted of all the crimes

 Patted on the back for a job well done

 The verdict meaning nothing to me

No gavel to bang

 Just the guilt

 Of my very own sin

 My sentence has been voided

 I am free to go

 Taking with me my life of sin

 I should confess

 Unburden my soul

 Of all I’ve ever done

 Instead I walk out into the rising sun


No gavel to bang

 Just the guilt

 Of my very own sin


            Time keeps moving.

             Hearts keep beating.

             Minds keep wandering.

             Jo keeps living.


             She doesn’t know how long it’s been.  Hours, days, weeks.  The light in the room has changed and Amy Astin knows that Jo Wheaton will never be the same again.  Amy sits with her back to the wall, Jo cradled in her arms, finally asleep.  It is more than likely the most uncomfortable position she’s ever been in but right now it’s the only place she can be. 

           Jo died.  Not a physical death, because they are still connected.  She hears the scattered thoughts of the other women in her life outside the room in her mind.  But it had been a death all the same, a death of trust. 

             They both know that Spencer, Tegan, Rylee, Sydney, and Abby had something to do with Bev injecting her with that foul strain of DNA.  They both know that Jo is angry, upset, and as feral as she’s ever been.  Yet Amy hasn’t ventured out of the room.  Because Jo has lost her fight.  It died when that needle pierced her skin and took away her humanity. 

             Amy pushes back Jo’s hair from her forehead, the skin now taking on the same eternalness that Dathan’s has, and Eden’s.  Its blonder, Amy thinks, and the grey hair is gone again.  Her eyes have yet to change from amber to their blue green color.  Amy rubs her tongue along her lips and feels the small cuts there, the fangs are back too.  She doesn’t heal like Jo does and with one bruising kiss; Jo seems to have cut her with her fangs.

             Jo stirs and eases away from Amy.  “Jo?”

             She doesn’t answer. 



             “Before you go all – well,” Amy swallows, “nuts, can I say something?  In the defense of our daughter?”

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