The fire started to ran out.

I tried to find a fuel just to keep it burning. I threw whatever I have just to keep it alive. Papers with my writing on them, all my books, all my clothes, even my own body.

And here I am right now, sitting alone, bare naked, covered in ashes, with a huge gaping hole in my heart; With all the burn marks on my body; Wailing; Writhing in pain.

It’s cold.

Very cold.




You have the matches and the firewood.
What are you going to do?


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