The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper, more terrible it grows behind you, its edges yawning at your heels.
I was hurt. My crime, what I had done was like a hungry pit behind me. I had to run, get as far away from it as possible. But it was still close at my heels. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But its like looking down into the grave of someone you love or kissing the mouth of a gun, a bullet trembling in its dark nest, ready to blow your head off.
He is dead !
I open my eyes and everything is sliding back into focus.
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