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Weekly Contest #208
WARNING: *MENTION OF WAR AND CONFLICT* His trembling hands opened the door, where he found the room where he lost his innocence. The wall’s plaster drooped down to the floor exposing the bricks and gadua foundations as if still mourning the loss of this virtue. He could still remember his own mother, her willowish figure and soft obsidian eyes, looking down at him from the doorway while he was playing with his wooden yoyo. The same one that laid on the floor, chipped and broken. It wasn’t always like that, Nestor remembe...
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