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flash fiction

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  • Peter
    The lock seemed heavy as I turned the key slowly open. My limbs seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. At least I am finally home, I thought with a half smile.
    Message 1 of 1 , Nov 10, 2003
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      The lock seemed heavy as I turned the key slowly open. My limbs
      seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. At least I am finally home, I
      thought with a half smile. My keys and wallet fell onto the table
      next to the door. The living room felt dark even as light flowed in
      from the setting sun. Maybe this was not the right career, I
      wondered as I slumped onto the sofa. Maybe I should just kill them
      all like I imagine everyday. What would it feel like to have their
      thoughts in my hands? Would I sense their souls trickle out of their
      bodies like a small stream of water? Who knew? I needed a beer.
      And maybe a bite to eat. No time for lunch again.
      The kitchen seemed even darker than the living room. I came
      around the corner and felt it before my eyes saw it. It seemed
      inevitable that it was there and yet also impossible. I had not laid
      eyes upon it in ten years. And yet here it was lying right on my
      kitchen table. No one knew about it except for her. And she had
      been dead for those same ten long years. I went to pick it up and
      hold it in my hands again. I knew that my life would again be
      forever altered the moment that I felt its rough texture and ran my
      hands on its misshapen form. Although I did not want this I had to
      admit that I had long desired it. I reached out my hand and the room
      grew black.
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