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Fiction by
Spartacai Thunder rumbles incessantly, spears of lightning split the boiling black
clouds with incandescent intensity. Night. The moon is hidden, and the sudden violence of pyrotechnic flashes
reveals little at the desolate cliff-top. The sea, maddened by the howls of shrieking wind, hurls itself insanely
against the battered rocks below in a cataclysmic climax fed by fury
and hate.
A bitter reflection of the raging midnight sky. Sitting quietly at the top of this cliff, an eye of peace within the
maelstrom, is a young man. Torrential
rain whips at his face as he stares down into the treacherous broiling
waters below, peering into the stygian darkness of his own soul. A short time passes. He
sighs gently and slowly stands. Calmly, gratefully, he allows the maddened wind to sweep him from the
precarious edge, tumbling out and over, downward to greet the thirsty,
jagged rocks, far below. The comforting pain that precedes blessed oblivion never materializes. Gingerly he opens one eye. It
is with a sense of overwhelming oddness that he finds himself lying
next to a tent in the middle of a field on a very sunny day. Now there's a funny thing!!? ENDS Posted 06/29/2002
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