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burn my own funeral pyre [past] [recruitment i]

i used to dream in the dark of palisades park

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Anton Belov DOLLARS
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Anton Belov
burn my own funeral pyre [past] [recruitment i]
POSTED ON Aug 23, 2024 17:38:01 GMT
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Light fractured across his vision, pixelating like static on an old television. For a second, as he woke, he was just a kid again, waking up on the couch to find the cable was out. The power out too—they always forgot to pay the electric bill. The taste in his mouth was acidic, rancid waste. There was so much pain in places that didn’t make sense.
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But he hadn’t been a kid for a long time, well before the time was right.
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Anton took a breath, feeling it wheeze through his lungs with bludgeoning relentless pain. Froth dried on the edges of his lips, a film of vomit down the brick he was laid against. Every inch of him convulsed, ping-ponging back and forth between too cold and too hot.
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You went too far this time, shitbag. This was not the first time he’d gone too far, but he could tell immediately it was the worst time. He couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he was actually dead, if this was just a picture of his cold body. What a sick depiction of himself he’d left behind—choking on his own vomit in a dirty alleyway. And what the fuck did any of it matter?
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“Fuck.” His voice was a rough, serrated grind. Barely recognizable to his own ears.
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The smell of rancid garbage and bile was pungent. As his fingers twitched back to life and the burn of nerves nearly overwhelmed him, he might have laughed in the moment. The only thing that had kept him from choking to death was the position he’d taken against the filthy brick wall, head canted at just the right angle. At least there was one thing he could do right, even if it wasn't on purpose.
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There was no telling how long Ant sat like that, until he realized that he wasn’t actually dead, but he wished he was. And then he looked over to see the darkness move, a blurry vision of a man tangled in the shadows of the alleyway like a revenant.
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“The shop is closed, if you can’t fucking tell.” His hands itched with the need for more. Just one more time, maybe then he’d do the job right.




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