Feb. 22nd, 2014

Just a few months ago, Astrid had been lying on an operating table while surgeons cut into her brain. Twenty-years-old and in the thrall of a brain tumor the doctor's were calling 'aggressive'. But, it turned out, not more aggressive than the combination of modern medicine and Astrid's own will to live.

As she waited for skype to reload itself, Astrid absentmindedly touched her fingers to the patch of short hair on the right of her head. If she wore her hair up - which she now often did when leaving the house - it was hard for that patch to be seen. She liked that, mostly because she liked keeping her little brush with death as something that belonged to her. Astrid had spent so many years feeling as though her body didn't belong to her, and it turned out that having people stare and wonder about an injury led to a similar feeling. Strangers hadn't earned that knowledge.

Stockholm was only an hour ahead of London )


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Darker London

October 2014

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