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"The scribbled signature black, onto the blinding global white, onto the thick soupy red." |
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"the glass was vigorously washed, and the swastika looked like a jewel on a red-and-white blanket." |
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"The fire was nothing now but a funeral of smoke, dead and dying, simultaneously." |
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"The book thief watched his blooded knee from the shove of her own hand." |
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"It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this." |
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"Blood was bleeding through, and in patches the clouds were dirty, like footprints in melting snow." |
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"The blood thickened. 'Why do I want to live? I shouldn't want to, but I do.'" |
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"Far away, fires were burning and I had picked up just over two hundered murdered souls." |
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"The hot sky was red and turning." |
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