The Shooting Star

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By Hadrian Hazlitt

She was sitting by the window, looking out into the starry sky. Behind her was her Mother; she was ill on her bed.

The night was cold, but she didn’t mind. She was waiting for a shooting stars — her only chance. Doctors were unable to cure her mother.

Perhaps a wish upon a star makes a difference. She waited for an hour. Then she rubbed her eyes. At last a streak of light passed through. She closed her eyes and she said her wish silently. She slept.

In the morning her mother was dead.

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