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My Story My name is Annabelle. At least, it used to be when I was still alive. I was born on October 31, 1942. Being an only child, I was raised to be independent. My parents were both spies, but were captured and killed as prisoners of war. I too was captured, at 14, eventually and questioned on what I knew. I was tortured. They cut me, tried to drown me, and shocked me. That's how I got my "joker's scar" on the side of my mouth. One day, I was strapped down to a metal table. They electrocuted me, but something went wrong. January 4, 1943. My death was prolonged for hours upon hours until I evetually slipped away at only 15. Yet, my soul was unrest
My Parents' Parting I remember the day my parents got captured like it was yesterday. It was a rainy day, a bad omen I suppose. Our family had just bought a new TV, we were the only ones on the block who could afford one. I knew my parents were Russian spies trying to get nuclear information from their jobs in America. What they didnt tell me, was the risks that came with it. Being a young child, I thought being a spy was the coolest thing, but I soon learned the opposite.
Sitting on the couch, my father and mother with me in the middle. There was a loud bang on the door and voices yelling outside. I remember looking up at my dad, fear struck his eyes. I looked over to mother, the expression of panic written all over her face. The front door busted open, S.W.A.T. teams and police of all kinds flowed into our house like ants running away from thier flooded hill. Dad threw me behind the couch before the men could see me. As they turning the corner, I saw t
glass in the tidegradac, croatia; summer.
it is a town climbed up from the sea:
a salt hymn, an exhalation, a brightly calcified
spray. the houses here are overgrown
as wildflowers, paths like tiny winding veins
sprung alive between them. from my balcony i watch
the sun crest slowly into afternoon,
and mothers lead their children
down stone slopes, arterial pull
to the water. by the shore,
vendors sell bottles of olive oil, salt,
sage, gathering up anything with the taste
of what mystery inhabits the air—brimming over
the glass lips, a curving kind of joy,
the whole earth, a bowl of it.
at night, my uncle drinks beer
and i drink wine. he watches
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More