Epilogue: Lies
by Mike Allen
In the end they're all consumed, just as you and I, in that world or our own are fodder for the heartless sun that crushes all with chariot wheels, its dream-slaying curtain drug behind to show us our true predators are close at hand, close as our hands, as the blocking we follow on this slum-rot stage when our gazes cannot fix upon the stars — we play our parts and pray our strands of plot won't end until the night begins again, the tales resume.
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