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11.12.06
in deep meditation, he pounded away the same way a blacksmith would shape metal. the harder he punched the calmer he felt, torn flesh revealing bare, chipped knucklebones. constant pain was the only assurance that he was still alive. relief. the face of the enemy now no more than a pathetic pink mess. he had suffered too long to not savour such peace of mind. no more taunts, threats, mind fuck - he will be free. he would be happy.
# posted by
abbz @ 00:19 ::
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