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A meeting with the void (excerpt) by Isabella Garcia 


It started with a faint whistling, one which sounded similar to a man on his way to work or the wind haphazardly blowing around trash, spewing at me in a torrent of all that is useless. It started this way, and remained as such, a steady pattern of whistling, occurring in increments: a second of silence, and then a whoosh, then silence again, sweet relief. At this point, it had been thirty minutes and the nose of the boy sitting next to me had not stopped whistling, and I was seething with dread. I began to squirm, I hated him. I could not pinpoint exactly why I felt this way, or if it would ever end, but in those thirty minutes, it felt as if my pitiful existence had been reduced to this moment which was happening both in the present and would stretch across all of eternity, watching everyone return to dust while it laughed.

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