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And now comes the waiting. Preparations are being made. Plans are being constructed and re-constructed. Everyone moves with purpose. It's inspiring even as it scares me. What is the price of one life? And how could any of us live with ourselves if we all didn't throw ourselves against the odds to try to save that one life?

The last forty-eight hours have been strange. I'm used to strange, honestly. It probably would have gone better had I not been intoxicated. I don't regret it though... I've been very tightly wound for a long time.

There's been a pile of broken glass next to my bed for over a week now, I see it everytime I wake up. I enjoy its company. It seems indicative of something, I can't figure out what.

Yes, I know how it got there. That was me smashing a testtube in disgust.

I tell ya. This fog though. That's the worst of it, not the monsters, not the being trapped, not the lack. when will everything regain its color?

I don't want to die. But I'm just sick of living in greyscale.

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by ringosdiamond writing
meatballsurge0n
Captain B. Pierce

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