Monday, February 4, 2008

Rhymes With Fallin'

by Robert Gryfft

I took to warming the silence of my existence by finding and selling shards of souls.

"Sub-par, I'm afraid," murmurs the soulgatherer. He flips through shard after shard, until he finds one with a peculiar glow. A smile hovers on his lips, and his short body positively trembles.

"Eminently satisfactory... Yes. This will do nicely."

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