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face to face
they lurk. pasted to walls of the past, dodging recognition like children on the playground of their youth. hiding, seeking, counting 1,2,3 you find me... sneaking under stairs and in the cellars dark and damp. and time passes, until you think you've won the game. but, they come. they always come. stomping, clomping, down the stairs... seeking, finding, exposing all the secret places. and the game becomes a quest, as you become the seeker. beginning the count in a voice you one-time knew, and try to find again.
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