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pete
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coarsing winds over the plains. the solemn shattered fields. the land where the rocks are broken and the sun rises high in the noon day sky. we run, tripping over the razor edges, barely avoiding death slices as we pick our way hopefilled that we may see safety. we run, slowly with each day tenth that passes. we run, we stagger, we fall. with still so far to go we cannot fall. we must move on. but we can't. we have fallen. the lights flash over head. they are searching for us, the fallen. they will take us to where we have run from. away we will go, and no longer will i see you. away we will go, to die slower than natural life allows. to see our familes deteriorate and collapse. to see our friends and loves devoured by time. all the while we are saved from its affects, yet tortured by a slow, painful diesease. one that pains and then stops, and then pains, and then stops, so as to be sure that we never get used to it. a screaming agony. a blistering hellflame that can only be summoned by one truly enthralled in the hateful lust of lost silence and innocence. and here we lay fallen. the light touches upon you. they take you from me. they leave. i am alone. fallen. you are gone. and i am free. free with the pain that you have been taken and i have been left here. and i will cry to the skies for your safety. for your quick death. and i will never be the same.
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040522
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