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"Cold Whispers" Part One

He peered through the tinted windows to see the grey clouds form. The windows added an extra hue of darkness to the grim sky. His eyes should have been on the road ahead of him, but he was enamored by the sunless gaze of dusk. Is it dusk, though, if the sun backed out of the sky without warning? I don’t know, he whispered.

The light ahead of him was green, but he found his car crawling to a stop before the flashing red hand appeared. He heard a honk, but it was meaningless. The car behind him swirled around his left, into the opposing lane, before accelerating past the tantalizing little white man. He was too focused to notice.

He looked down at his watch, and saw nothing but an endless circle. Does time only exist in the hands of its holder? I don’t know, he whispered.

He took his bloodshot eyes off his watch to look at the smiling Samoan on his dashboard—except it had been ripped off its base, and lost in the shuffle of depravity. If he was alive, would he forgive? I don’t know, he whispered.

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