fire engine red;

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I looked into my gigantic
walk-in closet and noticed how
there were piles of clothes on the floor
never worn more than twice, or how I had
hats that I lost interest in.

"This calls for a donation box to be
made." I hauled a stack of boxes
from the attic up the stairs and pulled
out a marker, scribbling donation
onto it. I rummaged through the closet,
yanking clothes off the hangers
and throwing them into the boxes.

I was finishing my second box
when I heard the doorbell ring.

"Honey, can you please get the
door? I'm about to go take a shower."
Mom yelled from her bedroom.

I ran down the stairs; my braids
hitting my lower back with each
step. I looked through the peephole
and felt a sigh escape my lips.

"What are you doing here, Charlie?"
I said without opening the door.

"P-Please l-l-let me in. I-I need
to talk to y-you."

"No, I'm mad at you, Charlie."
I turned my back against the door
and crossed my arms.

"P-Please?"  

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