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End of Light by Eric Peacock

The boiling clouds and coming night speak to me as a dream of the future. The faint shafts of dying sunlight signaling the end of the day. Memories of days gone by haunt the living like a requiem. The erratic sparks and flashes of lightning like some mystic signal of an angry world preparing for the demise of it’s uncaring occupants. I enjoy the last bits of breeze before the real storm hits, crushing out my cigarette and looking towards the dying embers of light.

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