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A single fleck of dust

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A single fleck of dust it rests upon a broken brick. Insignificant, it doesnt notice, never noticed. Who would care to bother with one of millions billions even? Disturbance, a shoulder brushes against the wall knocks our speck away. It falls slowly still ignored, a languid journey. The shoulder presses further against the cold wall. Its owner, a cloaked and hooded man. He speaks a single word, Please. His oppressors push on hardly listening hardly caring. A firm hand reaches for him through the dark of night. One grabs his sleeve, pulls hard. The black cloak slips from his slender body, falls in a tidal wave of silken fabric. Underneath, the mans only secret; he is not man but more than man. An angels wings unfold in a single moment, the longest moment ever witnessed. Indeed witnessed, by a woman hurrying somewhere she hardly looks, ignoring the battle of ancients seeing only what she wishes to see. The white glory flaps strongly against the ‘mansvicious enemies. They are many. He is one. For now, his foes shall drink success while he dines only on the scraps of defeat. Him, who could have been saved, if one human had cared to bother. A futile hope, alas, for a mortal human being. Even upon death, wrapped in the sealed coffins, they can tribute nothing to the earth. The earth, from which they were made. Our bit of dust is lifted proudly by a gust of wind from precious wings. And the fleck of dust thinks nothing.





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