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Shelly and Sunny

“Sunny?” Little Shelly leaned forward, close to the flower, a fresh bruise around her right eye. “Sunny, I want to talk to you.”

Sunny, Shelly’s favorite flower, stood still and bright.

“Mama did it. Just her hand, thank goodness.” She gently touched a soft petal. “At least I have you. You’re my best friend.”

 

Isaac Sweeney.