30 parts Ongoing MatureOnce, the world meant something to me. People an abundant refuge, trust wasn't often a cruel illusion, and freedom was as abundant as water. But now, drinkable water is scarce-and freedom even more so. Every step forward costs more than I have to give, yet I keep moving, even when surrendering to the eternal night would be so much easier.
Why do I keep pressing on, through these familiar corners and shadowed corridors where only death or desolation awaits? Why am I carving these words into an old Manila wall? When did my hand turn black? And how long ago was it too late to turn back?
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Yoooooo! What's up Liminal Lovers and Clinical Schizos! This is a rewrite of a story I made in the past that will likely have a different plot and generally he a thousand times better! Thanks to @_pepperleaf for being my amazing editor! Anyway enjoy the story, Love you guys!
-LiminalOne