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The Naïve Idealist | Writer & Author Teresa Little
Suria sat stiff against the wall. Unlike the others, her eyes refused to dart back and forth in anxious sideway glances. Instead, they remained fixed ahead on the door. The image of her neighbor's orange tabby sunning itself came to mind. It had become a workday ritual to find that cat sprawled across her driveway. She could envision his green eyes sparked from the warmth of the sun as he peered at her; daring her to run him over while that tail tapped ever so lightly against the concrete. If she were once again behind the wheel of her Jeep Cherokee, she would have tested the theory of a cat having nine lives. Inside the last of her sanity cracked. Twenty-six days in a padded cell could do that, especially when you shared it with nine others. The original count had been fifteen but Suria refused to think about that now. Answerless questions could drive a person mad. She caressed the edge of the dulled knife. She had stolen it from her dinner tray back when they were given utensils to