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A Hope with Despair


Now the blob, black and gray and slightly shiny,
mimics the shape of a mouth with its amorphous and
every-changing material substance. What possibly
could it be trying to tell me at this time? It sounds
like growling or gurgling, but behind these muffled
noises I can make out the barest formation of
human-like words. They are becoming more clear,
more intense and necessary, as if the blob needs to
expel a secret of past crimes, a capital sin that infects
the blob from the inside. Presumptuous me! I
thought the blob was a disease upon me. But wrong,
wrong, wrong. I am inside of it, trying to vomit
myself into clean air so that I can breathe.
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