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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Tragedy · #2039119
Each story makes a web, Each life binds us together
We are the orphans of the American Dream.
We are the future, crushed under the sole of the past.

A monument of the moments despots long since  passed
Hasty reinforcements covered the station, made of stone and steel
It was a relic stolen from the people of the past, the police of the past. 

I took a moment to reminisce of a better time, or so I was told.
A time of safety, A time of peace, A time of prosperity.
My small bundle of plastic and wires was placed.
Everyone in my desperate group followed suit.

Red fireflies danced and filled the courtyard.
Resting but for a moment on skulls.
Each friend fell like flies.
Each friend left empty.

I was still standing.
I had a remote.
I was close.
It ended



"It doesn't matter if you're the happiest person...

or an unfortunate weeper...

a powerful beast...

or a terrifying creature...

We're all equal in the eyes of The Reaper..." ~unknown
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