Storygram #190

Storygram #190

The battle was long and exceptionally bloody. I was delirious from the hours of fighting, parched to a point I had never before experienced. The last man standing from an entire field of armored soldiers…

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Storygram #189

Storygram #189

“Where’d it land?” The man in the middle of the three turned his head and nodded at a field where a small trail of smoke could be seen rising in front of the setting sun. The bald man walked toward the smoke, followed by the other three.

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Storygram #188

Storygram #188

There used to be blankets of snow here. The few trees were bent under the weight of it, and the dirt underneath never saw the sunlight. It was an endless expanse of white. But everything started warming up.

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Storygram #187

Storygram #187

The glass figurine was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It was a bluish green with some light brown mixed into it. She watched as a lady at a random craft fair molded the hot glass into a cute bird.

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Storygram #186

Storygram #186

Ahead of me through the trees, I see what may be a town and even a fishing boat in the river. My pace quickens. The small dirt road leads me around a corner, and my progress is halted by the strangest of sights.

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Storygram #185

Storygram #185

The sun was already well on its way to the top of the sky by the time he opened his eyes. In his little corner of the woods, time allowed him the luxury of sleeping in. But he had earned this one luxury by giving up all of the rest.

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Storygram #184

Storygram #184

The standalone portico’s roof was made of spaced wooden slats, letting sunlight through in stripes across the brick floor. As she walked through it, she thought it to be a good representation of the barred members of society, living in shadows while the rest were allowed to freely shine.

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Storygram #183

Storygram #183

Nothing was going through his mind. The fear was too big for there to be any thoughts. He could only focus on the panic fueled action of running from what was sure to be the beating of a lifetime, far worse than the bruises and black eye a month ago.

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Storygram #182

Storygram #182

They had allowed him 75. After those 75 failed, he convinced them to provide the funding for 25 more. At 100 he secured private funding for an indefinite number, but they cut him off after 46. The last four experiments cost every dime he had ever saved of his own money.

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Storygram #181

Storygram #181

The sun’s harsh light blared through the front door. The whole house was dark as the rays managed to skip past the walls and fall precisely onto my glass of water, illuminating its contents. Before two months ago, I was never much of a water drinker.

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Storygram #180

Storygram #180

It was one of those mornings. The world was frozen at a standstill, where even the air itself didn’t dare to move. Not a single bird or forest critter stirred, and a thick fog rolled over on the land in its slumber. Total stillness.

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Storygram #179

Storygram #179

Several miles are behind me as the landfill is finally in sight. The cliff’s edge looks like a nice place to rest before I climb down and cross the old highway to the piles, so I sit and let my feet dangle. I take a few swigs from an old canister in my backpack and stare at the empty road.

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Storygram #178

Storygram #178

It’s a day that has chased away the sun’s heat. I am bundled up in my favorite white coat, but my skin is still laden with thousands of bumps. No matter how long I sit on this bench, my own body heat can’t seem to overtake the cold metal I feel through my jeans.

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Storygram #177

Storygram #177

Work had been long and frustrating, so she decided to take a stroll through the park before heading home. Running or hiking wasn’t her thing, but she enjoyed leisurely walks through little havens of nature.

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Storygram #176

Storygram #176

The morning light beamed through the windows of his quaint shop and intermingled with dust suspended in the air. It settled back into place quickly after he opened the door, which had sent the particles into a frenzy.

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Storygram #175

Storygram #175

Running was more enjoyable for him when it was away from the houses. He would run down the unpaved gravel paths of the undeveloped portions of his subdivision. It was quiet there, nothing but the wind and crunch of his steps on the rocks.

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Storygram #174

Storygram #174

The path we somehow stumbled onto turns into a tunnel formed by intertwined trees and vines, the sun poking at whatever holes it can find. It’s unsettling. There seems to be a strange darkness here that I can’t articulate, only feel.

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Storygram #173

Storygram #173

He wasn’t allowed to question anything he had growing up. His parents never worked, but they all lived together in a mansion, had abundant food, and anything they wanted would eventually materialize. When he was older and realized how the world operates, they would scold him for asking.

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Storygram #172

Storygram #172

Venice was beautiful during the day, but at night some areas sent his skin crawling. He navigated his boat through a narrow passageway, searching for the orange building with an open garage. Supposedly, she would be waiting for him in a room above it.

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Storygram #171

Storygram #171

Forks wielded by the children scraped the plates in a scarfing frenzy. They didn’t know the reason for all the food. They simply accepted it, knowing nothing of what was coming.

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