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Monologue

Not My Story 
Ruth Anna Powell

The first thing you need to know is that this is not my story to tell. It’s hers. The little girl in the corner, the one with the fake smile, the one who confuses you. 
I remember the first time we met. I was alone and I was scared. She reached out her hand and became my first friend. We learned everything together. We grew up together.  But I had no idea.
Because we’re just Small Town America, what could happen here? But stuff like this isn’t just gossip, stuff like this is real. 
I’ve heard she has a baby now and black hair. 
We sat together at Burger King. I told her how sorry I was, and I bought her an apple pie, desperately hoping that a dollar and twenty-nine cents would somehow solve everything. But it didn’t. And it won’t. And that’s ok. Because this is not my story to tell. 


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