Often, the best fiction is the fiction I don’t understand.
Enjoy Gabe’s piece
The dust of shattered stars hung heavy on the air and in his soul. He glanced up towards the unforgiving heavens and their unfeeling ruler, the sun. He pondered subconsciously how something so hot could be so cold. He looked down at his broken feet, bare, bruised, and bloodied red from miles upon miles of fruitless pilgrimage. His blood had been golden once, a remnant of a different time in his life. But now even that was gone, replaced with the crimson red of the dirt and the brutal sun overhead.
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