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Weekly Contest #358
Nobody believed in me. That was their first mistake. Nobody believed you could see faces in the hot dust that rose in the wake of rusty trucks and children’s bikes as they clattered past rotting fences. No one paid any mind to the change in the tune of the windchime on their grandmother’s porch, a subtle shift when the wind started blowing in a troubling direction. Not anymore. I gave them signs, I always have and always will. I am not ungracious, nor do I revel in pain. Tragedy does not feed me, like those forgotten books on the last librar...
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