By H. G. Watson

When Al dreamed, she always found herself deep in a forest.

The trunks of redwoods towered over her. The sun dappled through the green leaves. Al craned her face up, greedy for the light.

In the distance there was a clearing. Al ran towards it—I am running, she marveled—wanting to feel the sunshine on every inch of her skin. As she reached the edge of the forest, the warmth grew. She was so close.

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The Author

H. G. Watson