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Personal Narrative-Anastazie And The Clove Girl

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Anastazie’s cherry red lipstick smelled of clove cigarettes and cheap cologne. Her lips tasted spicy as I pressed mine into her’s. I missed that spicy taste, the taste of Libena; her deep blue shirtwaist dress painted with a surge of electric crimson. Back when she was alive, a long clove cigarette always hung between her slightly gapped teeth as she spoke, then she would effortlessly pull back to produce a thick puff of smoke. She was from a small town slightly east of Potsdam; orphaned after her parents were heard for war crimes. They held American ideals, ones of libertarianism, and that was not acceptable in the east. She couldn’t stay Potsdam due to the memories of her family, and her family’s store was quickly bankrupt thanks to the rations.
We first met at the grandiose train station in southern Prague. Her deep crimson lips were twisted around a clove cigarette and her shoulders trembling under a ratted light blue shaw. Her beauty made me need to speak to her, and she told me she had no place to stay in the city. After some convincing on my part, I took her with me to my small apartment. She was a great conversationalist and had the ability to entertain me for hours upon hours. I fell deeply in love with her, then when I confessed this she said she felt the same. I married her and had a child. …show more content…

Then, her heart rate sped up and her chart went high. She convulsed, screamed, and begged for help. I yelled for the doctors, but they never came to help. I grabbed the defibrillator off the wall, and for a second her pink lips opened into a scream. I smiled, thinking she would be okay. Then, she collapsed back onto the bed and never got up. When I see the demon child I have mixed feelings. Her hair frames her face like Libena, she smokes the same clove cigarettes, she wears the same deep red lipstick, and she kisses with the same furor. As she presses into me now, I feel like I’m kissing Libena

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