I picture her running, a sash fluttering around her waist. Attached to the sash is a net and into the net goes a pebble every time she feels affronted. Clink. Every grievance, petty or weighty, imagined or undeniable: clink, clink.
She's been at this a long time. She can no longer run. She trudges. "But it wasn't fair." Clink. "It's not my fault." Clink. Sweating, purposeful. Her determination has always been strong. "How can you ask me to let this go?" Clink. "Why should they get away with it?" Clink. "I'm not stuck in the past." Clink, thud.