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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 78

Here's a quick little apocalyptic-type opening. I could see myself expanding on this later, I read a book a while ago that had this kind of tone.

In a thick fog of blood and smoke, the world was ending. The mist held me in a chokehold as I attempted to wheeze for air, only to find myself gasping for something that wasn’t there. I could feel my eyes glass up as tears painted my face in faint colors. The world felt dry that day as if all living things had been subsequently pulled from the Earth like a claw. The worst part of it all was that no one remembered it.

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