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She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked at the clock. 3:32am. It wasn’t even light outside. She put her red pillow over her face. Took a deep breath. Coughed. And then grabbed her Bible and little blue sweater and stepped out of bed.
She couldn’t sleep.
She was getting sick again.
She went and sat on the edge of her sofa and fixed her messy hair in a room with no lights on. Then she struggled to read her Psalm for the day. #66. She liked it. And then she sat and watched The House of Commons live for an hour. She liked the Prime Minister’s accent the best. But the Conservative Party Leader’s was also killer. Maybe it was all British accents in general that she found flattering. She didn’t really know.
Her sister turned a light on in the kitchen. She walked into there, her curiousity piqued. The laminated floor was cold. It tickled her feet.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Her sister looked up. She had a knitted cream coloured hat on and was holding a jar of peanut butter. “I was hungry.”
“You were hungry?”
“Yes.” And then she made herself a peanut butter and banana open face sandwich.
The girl laughed. And went back and layed down on the sofa and listened to some British men fight. She fell asleep at 5:22am.
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