Admiral Jacobi Porter walked right by the tall dog statue wearing a fuzzy black hat outside the towering library. But Geraldine was not a tall dog statue, nor would anyone who knew her credit her stature as tall, nor did she look like a dog in any way. But we all know the view looks different from the top.
Geraldine Kay was tired. She had been at the library all morning researching the fundamental issues of psychosis patients who had been misdiagnosed. Her case study was based on the homeless population of the great state of New York. Geraldine was what people considered a “little person” but she dreamed largely of changing the face of homelessness, beginning with those who seemed un-helpable. Her thick black hair fell down her back in a thick, curly mop as she stretched, arching her aching back, and winced in the warm summer sun. She glanced across the street and noticed a woman staring at her from an old, wooden bench. Geraldine slid her eyes down to the thick stack of crumpled papers in her lap, sighing, because she only knew the view from the bottom.
The woman shifted her weight on the creaking bench. Blythe had been waiting for the bus for fifteen minutes and her bottomside was beginning to grow numb. Breathing deeply with a sharp intake of air, she realized her blue eyes had been staring at the front steps of the library, the dull tan cement an easy place to focus amid the whirl of emotion. Two days prior, her roommate had disappeared. The black uniforms had been in and out, lining the floors with yellow, numbered cards, and bagging random knickknacks. Blythe was no longer comfortable there, but had little cash for hotels and shopping sprees. Hence, the wait at the park. What would they find? What would they not find? She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep the secret. Unsure of relief, she’d acted before considering how the view could change. But she swore she'd do it again, regardless.
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