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Injustice screams harder than a banshee fighting the wind.
Matted tresses lick and stick against ugly, grey foreheads.
Wiry wills bend into and away.
Give a little, take a little.
Finding leeway.
Outrage courses through the veins like a derailed train.
Careening on to deeper anger.
Teetering on the edge of disaster.
Reeling back from the edge.
She toes the line – holding onto dry powder.