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The Cotton Burial

“Cotton, bury him with cotton!” I  held onto the wall’s skin, echoing the cries of a beast…a morbid creation.


Alas, I’ve become one.


“There isn’t any cotton in sight,” Alion closed the last box, his voice trembling in a dancing rhythm with his figure.


I stepped towards his corpse, Aliardo’s corpse.

In every step, I felt the earth pulling me to its grounds, next to his body.

I stepped, ignoring Alion’s calls.


Fear consumed my breaths; I couldn’t find of the air enough to feed my lungs.


I stared at his face, my pupils swinging all over his body.

His face pale, illuminated by the white of his eyes.

His lips dripped of dark red, venomous to the soul.

The corners of his being glazed in green, his favorite color.


His corpse extraordinarily heavy defeated my attemps of throwing it out of the window.


I wept.

To the heavens.

To the earth.

To the air in between.


I held onto my hair, my tangible sanity.

It fell on the palms of my hands.

It looked just like cotton.

White in its color, horrid in texture.


“Oh my dear Alion, I found the cotton,” My eyes shined in absolute triumph.








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