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Crimson sadness

I came to with the light of an emergency vehicle (police? fire?) in my window. I rose to look out the window, and found an ambulance parked on the street in front of the house, lights flashing, door open, and a stillness: no one moving, not a sound, not even the wind through the trees.

I stood there watching for what seemed like an hour, frozen in time like one of those snow globes that you get at the airport. It was almost beautiful.

I turned and went back inside the house, quiet so as not to disturb the sleeping gods of fate who hovered nearby playing cat-and-mouse with someones life, and quietly slipped back beneath the covers and cried.

And the next snows will come and wipe away the memories, and in the morning life will resume with the alarm clocks calling and the smell of bacon and coffee and the rustle of freshly-printed newspaper, and no one will notice that there is one less breath left to fog the windows of the soul.

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