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Getting ready to die
Dennis finished toweling his brown hair and wiped the mist from the bathroom mirror, gray eyes staring back at him. Face expressionless, he fished the frayed toothbrush and rolled-up toothpaste ...
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Tempest, Soul, Death
My soul is like a hunk of driftwood, being tossed and battered unmercifully by the raging seas and gusting winds. It cries out to be rescued, to be plucked away ...