Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.
He was a boy unaccustomed to feeling actual feelings and having original thoughts. He went to school, worked with the trainers, tried to avoid his parents with their perpetual scowls. He wondered why they seemed to hate everything so much.
He wondered if that was what they were training him for. Hate.
Was it some kind of horrible inevitability? Would it come plopping out of him at an inopportune time, red and throbbing, dripping blood juice? Could other people see it - was he branded? Or was there still time to escape the iron?
The boy stopped dead in his tracks and looked into the sun until he could almost make himself believe the tears were from the bright light. He trembled and convinced himself the day must have turned cold. He did not smile because that had been left out of his training.
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