I.N.O.

6 3 8
                                    

A deluge overtakes a luxury liner as its passengers dine calmly, unbothered by the torrent that has swallowed their ankles. At the same time, a house burns while the children play and the parents share a passionate kiss atop an engulfed mattress. Still elsewhere, a family poses for a picture on the side of a scenic mountain as the ground beneath them has already crumbled away, yet their smiles have never been brighter.

The world screams without a sound, begging for its end but they don't hear it. How could they? Secrets, selfishness, and silence are the recipe for an illness with no cure. But who is the sick? A joke of an existence in a petri dish with no right to happiness or feeling.

Maybe one day they'll realize, but they won't care—they never did. An anomaly is just that, an aberration to be purged and nothing more.

Poisoned and tired, the berry falls from the branch, praying it ruptures when it hits the ground. Instead, it falls into the web of a spider that has long since perished. And so, it waits to spoil and rot away.

Don't bury it. Don't burn it. Forget it in a ditch and close the storybook in your happily ever after.


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