Chapter 1

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{Death Is Never Bias}

"Make not your thoughts your prisons"

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"Make not your thoughts your prisons"

-William Shakespeare


Diana's drive home consisted of her crying her poor eyes out and blasting the car radio on a random rock channel to mask her lamenting sobs and cries. Passers-by stared with vexation at her speeding vehicle. Evidently, they had not planned on listening to metal at 8 O'clock in the morning nor did they wish to be run over by a seemingly deranged woman. If truth be told, she herself deemed it a miracle that she had not gotten into an accident with the way she drove, she almost ran over a stray cat at one point through her drive.

Although, before she made it to her house, she had the sudden urge to stop by her favorite park, the one with the colorful ducks and big green pond. She always sat on the same woody bench. It wasn't the best bench in the park, in fact, it was the worst one she's ever seen, but to her, it was enough. littered with graffiti and chewed up gum, its strategic position made it so it gave her a great view of the big pond and that was all she wished for. The park was her favorite spot to visit when Jonathan wasn't home which, nowadays was more often than she liked to admit.

At that hour of day, the park was barren, apart from Diana there was an older gentleman with his walking cane feeding the birds crumbs of stale bread. The breeze was gentle and pleasant, the only notion of sound was brought about from the rustling leaves and the whistling of the wind as it racked through the dry branches.

Diana's mind ricocheted between low and lower. She had not wanted to believe that her time will soon come to an end. She kept repeating to herself platitudinal quotes she used to see all the time as a kid, she chanted them aloud much like a broken recorder. "The end is just the beginning" She idly whispered to herself and if someone were passing by at that moment they would think her mad with her hair and makeup a mess and her mumbling quotes to herself.

She watched as the ducks' dove under the surface of the water and came out as dry as before, water droplets sliding down their backs like liquid mercury. And just like the water off the ducks back she wished her problems would slide off hers too. She admired their glowing feathers and the shape of their beaks. She came to the park so frequently that she can almost distinguish each one from the other. She even gave most of them names. There was Unfortunate Donald, a dull brown one who seemed to be the runt of the litter, always eating the scraps and small crumbs left behind. Sissy Missy, who steals the other ducks share and always seems to pick a fight with any duck next to her. And as the cold season approached they were readying themselves to fly south where the climate would best suit them.

Much to her dismay, that night when she got back home, the house was empty. Apart from her always active dog, Nutmeg, the house was barren. It wasn't till a few hours into the night that her mind began to rot in her skull, she hated keeping secrets to herself, she was never good at it either. She would have to be very careful around Johnathan. She will have to try her hardest to keep it together for him. She didn't wish to worry him if her constant crying would not cease. She knew she will run out of excuses to tell him whenever he asked as to why her eyes were puffy and awash with tears.

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