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Weekly Contest #233
My Uncle's Beast. After my grandmother's death, my uncle, consumed with grief, locked himself up in his studio for weeks on end and did nothing but stare at the wall like he was staring into an abyss. Almost like he was trying to get rid of his sadness by projecting it onto the white nothingness of his studio wall. My uncle was especially angry because even on her death bed when she could no longer speak or swallow because the cancer that would eventually kill her had metastasized into a goiter in her throat, my grandmother still had a loo...
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