Anabelle came out to play today. She plagues my evening as I watch her play a piano. The light of the moon is filtering in through the crevices created by the blinds. It is almost too much light to derive from the moon . . . but it is moon and only moon. My heart swells and stretches not far enough to reach my eyes. I am at peace with the war around me . . . and drawn into the belligerence within me. I killed you, I killed all of you. But I forgot to take your bodies to the morgue and they are closed this late. So your dead carcasses, they rot before my irises and haunt me still. But ah, oh children, you are only ghost and I have come to abhor you more than most.
You take the waves and create a current so adherent to your dead spirit. There is so much blood in the water now it hurts to swim. I called on the Lord to heal the hope that was slain. Alas, he gave me some rain. But my heart was all in vain. I just never wanted to look like that again.
Fight on one with the sun. Fight on.
You're it.
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