Every time Wanda looked at the moon, she remembered the night that everything had gone wrong. The moon had been out that night too, casting a silver sheen over the front yard, turning all the lawn ornaments to steel. She remembered the flames and the rush of water and the sirens, and grabbing her stuffed rabbit and her favorite book about a child who mistakes a bear for its mother. She remembered running, and running, and running, until she reached what she thought was the end of the world but turned out to be her face in the dirt and the world gone black with unconciousness.
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