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It's midnight

The ticking of the old mantle clock

Resonates in the pitch black

A room almost devoid of life, of emotion

If it weren't for the silent tears

Cascading down ivory cheeks

Illuminated only by the coruscating glow of the full moon.

It's 2 am

The form, curled in the fetal position

Begins to tremble

Its cries making each tremor feel like an earthquake

No one is around to hear

No one really cares ...

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