Shear

  Twenty-seven years of trying to bloom where she was planted and all she’d become was root-bound in barren soil. After years of agonizing, dreaming, pro and conning, leaning toward one option then toward its opposite, she woke up one morning, and found that the decision had been made while she slept. She would start a new story, one without the baggage and stumbling blocks of previous plot arcs. A new cast of characters, a new setting. It turned out to be as easy as saving a few hundred bucks and putting a pin in a map. Instead of tying up all the loose ends, she just cut them off. One quick shear of the shears and she was gone.