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A Hope with Despair


Part 1.
A black blob fills the volume of my head; not
formless but poorly formed, writhing as an organic
infestations of gooey, plasma-like resin that I am
waiting for its departure…But it will not leave, at
least not upon my command, and God has no
interest in my humble infection. It will likely clear
on its own, I am sure—I hope. I do not even require
the intervention of a doctor or mother or wife. We,
the blob and I, are close friends for all time, and as
much as I hate the blob, I must believe the blob’s
hatred for me arose only in defense of my initial,
unjustified anger directed at this poor, unaware
creature.
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