A door closes. There is darkness. * * * She shuts the door and leans against it, breathing heavily. The telltale gleam of salty wetness trail down her...cheeks – tears of frustration and rage, glittering and bathing the angry red lines where he has scratched her, in stinging salt. A car pulls into the driveway, engine purring like an overfed cat. Michael. Her darling boy. She walks quickly into the bathroom. Running water. She washes her face and pastes on a smile. Her lips feel as stiff as. (I know people always say this is a "real" story so as to prove that they aren't making these things up. Well, this is enough of a stupid k** thing, that you ought to figure out that it really happened. Who would make up this stuff?)Boy Scouts, and a camping trip one summer. Two k**s to a tent - these old heavy canvas tents - with ugly and uncomfortable wood and canvas cots. The tents were set up in a circle around a central campfire area with rocks. One day, somehow, and my mind is of no use. More

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