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“Why does time pass?” she wails as she finishes reading the hundred-day-old conversation on her phone. “Fuck you!”
Her tears, sliding down her cheeks, mix with the mayonnaise dripping from the triple Whopper she impulsively ordered to bury the bittersweet memory beneath layers of meat. She kicks the phone away and takes another big bite from her burger.

“That’s it. I refuse to dignify this existence any further. No more pains of nostalgia. And the only way to prevent future nostalgia is…to stop making memories altogether,” she thinks.
In between chewing and swallowing, she knows there are only two options. One, run outside and let the snow bury her alive. An icy end to her untold story but still less chilling than the agony of nostalgia. Two, indulge the angels’ offer and agree to being reincarnated as Dory. She always felt that she belonged to the ocean; it would be like finally going home.
She missed that hundred-day-old conversation, she hated the cold and she was curious about having gills.
It was an easy decision after all.

After her triumph over the triple Whopper, she takes a gulp of soda and goes to bed, her phone in hand, re-reading that conversation all over again.

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