Coming to a dystopia near you.
Six-Sentence Story
I remember what I was doing. I was reaching to put a jar of olives back on the shelf. Now that shelf lies across me. The rest of the house is piled on top of that. I hear nothing from my family. I will die before they can reach me.
It is by no means certain that good will win. That's not how to phrase it. What is certain is that what they want to replace it with, won't.
If my Enemy is a Clown, a Natural Born Clown.
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