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February 3, 2007
A whisper floated in the air, landed on the crevasse of her ear.

She lilted back in her wooden chair, casting her eyes to the library’s stair.

He stood at attention in full military uniform, a bayonet in his hand.

Wax eyes filled blank space, fighting an enemy already put to disgrace.

Stretching her shoulders back, she left her work monotonous.

He twitched his horse hair moustache, blonde as the dead grass of the battleground.

She twitched her full lips, biting back the brittle taste of stale soda.

Shoulders set, he shoved the shiver of fear back down his esophagus.