An Stoirm

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Lightning strikes, thunder howls. The rain is pelting. No one knows how long it will last. No one realises how heavy the waves swell. The boats are all out at sea, waiting for the next harvest. Lonesome, a howl of a stray cat cuts through the sound of the storm. A sense of humanity in the howl of the stray cat against the storm stills my heart. Why did I have to be in another fishing village? The last time I was in another fishing village, my love died. They were gone, into the sea, on a day like this.

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