Scars Of A Broken Bond

A woman graced the stage, her voice twining with the lyrics of a folk song.

As Sabrina took a seat at the bar, the bartender asked, “What can I get you, miss?”

A quick reality check reminded her that she was expecting. “A Sprite, please,”

The bartender was left momentarily speechless.

He thought she was kidding, but he still brought a bottle of Sprite for

Sabrina. “Enjoy your drink.”

“Thank you,” Sabrina replied, securing her drink and finding a secluded spot. She settled into her chair, her gaze focused on the singer on the stage, her mind adrift with thoughts.

me through the summer’s song of cicadas,

constant wait for you. I really miss you, in every rainy season. What you choose to discard is what I most

my love. My story is all about you

Perhaps due to the small audience, her voice seemed to lose a

for Sabrina, the song stirred something profound. Her eyes welled up and her heart ached

emotions chose this

from a naive college boy to the influential

her target, a beacon in her murky existence, and her singular narrative for

from the shadows, muddied and

fought