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The Brink of Night

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Bounding down the stairs, I flew out of the door, jacket opening outward
like a pair of dusky gray wings. I needed to hand a paper
to my teacher; it was an urgent matter. Usually,
I would not be outside so late in the afternoon.
Jumping down the steps, I halted in the middle of a leap, feet still on tiptoe.
The sky morphed into a deep, mysterious indigo,
streaks of violet wailed violently, clashing into the cerulean hues.
I could see the silhouette of a person trudging across the fields,
a spindly tree bereft of leaves was
shading a
desolate bench. The street
was empty, the silence and the shadows mingling together to create
a moment devoid of time, independently flowing.

I stood there, furtively glancing at the scene
I was leaving behind.

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