She came back to a burned home. Jewelry gone, photos destroyed, dispensers emptied. She came back to a pile of ashes that she once called a life. Her dog, Byron, was with her, she had her passport because her license expired. She came back to what she thought was everyday. Burnt paint and slashed canvasses, missing trophies. The locket with her parents' pictures. So many books, so many inscriptions. Could she possibly remember what they said? Something about love, something about birthdays. The handwriting. The handwriting was all gone. Nothing left but pixels. And those could be anybody's. Standing in her former life she wondered what sort of phoenix it would bring. She back back to find that she could never go back again. She had nothing but tears and nowhere to go but forward. Forward is hard, and her feet were covered in soot. At least, for once, she wasn't worried about footprints.
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