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Weekly Contest #243
The bench was cold, he sat there a familiar spark flowing through him. Soon he thought, there’s work here. The air was crisp and light, a beautiful autumn morning. The trees around him were dying. Oranges, yellows, and browns showing the familiar look and giving the familiar scent of decay. He couldn’t remember how he got there, like always, the job always started like this. Disorientated and confused, but this time of year was something he always felt a kinship with. The death, he understood more than anyone. The lake across from where h...
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