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Rustic rain

I wanted to write something about guilt that takes queues from great actions scenes like that in John Wick, but I don’t think it turned out that great… It’sa bit of a gore fest with

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The Blastwave

The blastwave. The forest sang under the breaking dawn as morning dew ripped from the emerald blades of grass that swayed slightly in the wind. Daunting trees stared down at the forest below; the slanted

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Lonely road

Lonely road Pitch black, the night, swirling around me as I walked. Her smiling face, laughing as she skipped and giggled, her auburn hair flashing under orange light. Trees lied the path ahead, before a

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Colour

Colour “Have you ever tried to describe colour to a blind man? No? I have. It’s difficult, that is, it’s difficult because colours are such an abstract concept. They are names for how our minds,

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Paradise, and the cold dark

Paradise, and the cold dark She clumsily rose to her feet, the scent of roses surrounding her, enticing her with sweetness. This garden of eden was no paradise; there was only darkness, the illusion of

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