Positive signs. Something so simple, something I never thought would be a life-changing object. In second grade, one was placed in between two 2's, asking you to determine the answer. In seventh grade, one was placed in front of a number to determine whether it was positive or negative. And now, as I sit on the floor of a tiny stall in the Wal*Mart bathroom, one is determining the rest of my life. I'm afraid to tell anyone. I'm afraid of what random stragers will think when they see a fifteen-year-old walking around with a huge belly. But mostly, I'm afraid to tell you.
Don't be alarmed when a new window comes up when you submit a story. We're testing out a new feature to let you delete stories you have submitted. If you think this is a terrible idea, just shoot me an email at estenh AT storitell DOT com.
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