blood runs to the gutters, flowing and whirling, a sluicing pink juice that circles and sloshes down the drain most did not feel the missing blood, but it came from each and every one of them - the locals, the exiled, the travelers, and the ne'er-do-wells - all bled into the city, and something grew from that protein slurry most contributed only drips & drops, but some hemorrhaged, giving their liquid selves for something they couldn't anticipate


Great flowing lines. Open to interpretation by the reader. And deep.
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thanks
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👌👌👌😁📷
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Excellent writing. A scene played out through time and places.
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oooo, ooo so sad
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