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The sun sets. I pant, bent over propped on my knees. My back heaves up. Down. Up. Down. I rise, straighten my back and take in the last rays in the cloud-splotched sky. I turn; I know in my stomach that I have not gotten away. I have to keep on going. But I feel I can’t go on anymore; I want to die.
I give in for a moment, close my eyes. The sand beneath my toes is the only good thing in the entire universe right now. If only I could be a grain of sand, any grain of sand, a grain of sand touched by the setting sun everyday, turned golden and warm for a moment.
Did I hear a twig crack? Why can't I have some rest?
I turn, gasp, my instincts engage...
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Due Nov 15.
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