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  from Rejections by Gloria Elle Gabrie

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A First Line rejection

As she trudged down the alley, Cenessa saw a small crack along side a stone in the wall, with a slight golden light breaking up the darkness of the late hour. Never had she noticed it before on her daily trips through the alley, on her way to and from her bread shop. Nearer to it, she kicked at the hard banks of frozen snow with her galoshes, just below the crease, to get close enough to view inside the glowing gap. As the hardened snow crumbled apart at her feet, several more cracks were revealed, where the snow had been resting against the wall.

The stones are separating, Cenessa thought, with seeing the cracks weaving in and out of a large area of the stone wall. She leaned forward, with her mittened hands pressed against two stones, to peer in at the golden light.

“Whoa,” she shrieked in surprise, as the stones moved beneath her hands, tilting her further forward and off balance. She lost her footing, with her galoshes slipping on the icy snow, and became wedged amidst the wall of stones, as they continued to shift in position. Frantically she fought to find her feet, under the pressure of the wall, as she was getting swallowed within it. Then suddenly, she was freed. On the other side.

Righting herself with her back pressed against the now firm wall, Cenessa saw another wall only inches from her face, of green ivy. She stood hushed, dizzied in confusion, looking down both directions of the space. Pivoting on her toes, she spun in place and pushed her hands against the wall.

Red mason’s brick. But how?, she asked herself, puzzled at the wall’s change. What’s happening?

“What’s the hold up, doll? I haven’t got all day.”

Cenessa jumped, pressing her body against the wall, startled at the man’s voice coming from somewhere behind her and beyond the ivy.

“Are you alright in there?” The man’s voice questioned in concern.

Turning her head, she peered over her shoulder to see the silhouette of a tall slender figure through the thick ivy and sun light. “Uh. Are you talking to me?” she asked the figure, her voice in a near whisper.

“Are you Cenessa Carter? Of ‘Cenessa’s Breads? On Wilmot Street?”

“Er. Yes. But you must have me mist…”

“Then I’m talking to you, toots,” the man’s voice interrupted, cutting her short. “And I’m not mistaken. Only happened once. Now step out of there or risk getting clobbered...







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