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Dread

by Rictor Jomes My desk is the place where I sit and dread. I dread it all, I am a dreading machine: I can feel the parts of myself churning like gears and pistons made of dirty steel. The gears drip soil and oil. It's bigger than a room, that machine, bigger than a factory. How did I get that big, how can I fit so much dread? I am ...