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Short Attention Span Fiction
Date: Sun, 23 Oct 1994 00:12:52 -0500 (CDT) Pounding rain on the mountaintop, I was holding her hand for dear life, for somehow she had slipped. Rain was pouring down like there was, quite literally, No Tomorrow, which has always been the nastiest of memes to find itself creeping around my subconscious; blood on my back from horrible wounds was stinging and distracting and oozing and ubiquitous. My arm strained from the fury and the frustration of holding her hand as she dangled over the sleek black precipice, the nothingness you've seen before laid out below her, gaping maw open wide, smacking its lips, rocks and distance and air and clouds below her as she hung there, suspended from my hand. "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ," she kept screaming, her feet kicking the air, and my arm was just getting tired, and I was furious, and I was frustrated, "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ," electric CONTACT of our hands didn't mean all that much in the long run, because, quite literally, there was No Tomorrow, and finally, I just let her go. Because I was tired. I was asleep when No Tomorrow came. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ...
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