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Archive for April 6th, 2008

John cradled the wounded soldier in his arms. Separated from his unit, the sudden appearance of another human being had surprised him. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even want to be here.” He said. “I didn’t mean to shoot. Do you understand me?”
 
The dying man, sensing the end, drew a concealed pistol and fired.

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Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself. 
~Franz Kafka

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