Silence
Empty is the word I write.
Empty is the word I write.
About
I was walking along the garden path, and I was looking down. When I looked up again, for reasons I never understood, I was no longer on the garden path. All around me, I realised, were trees and dense vegetation that stretched for miles and miles. Above me, the sky was filled with thick grey pillows. A streak of blue lightning raced across the firmanent, and it began to rain. The rain stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun. The sun never came up again.
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