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Tess looked at the picture of a teenage
boy carrying his dying father out of the
swirling black smoke.
“Who is he?”
“Not who,” Blackwood warned.
“But what.”

Sometimes the only way to make sense of the world,
is to write about it...

They struck at noon.
Monkeys shrieked in
confusion as Langur
fighters sprung down
from the Cemetery walls,
howling in an attacking frenzy.
As they stormed through the
tombs, fear and panic flashed everywhere.
And with the screams came the smell of blood.

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