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  • The Impressionist
    17 3 1

    She stared into the broken mirror. Why? She thought. Why me? Blood trickled down her arm from a gash in her hand. She crouched down to pick up the shards of glass and glanced into the cloudy reflection. Surprisingly, no tear trails marked her face. She frowned. The folds of the tent swayed in the wind. A gunshot echoe...

  • In My Mind
    84 8 2

    Hi, my name's Acelin. Acelin Black. And I'm dead.