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November 7, 2006

From The Comments: PB McCoy

Burroughs scraped the last of the beetle’s innards out with his tongue and sat back as the hallucinations began to creep in along the edges of reality.

The stone rolled away and he found himself bathed in the light of the Third Day. At his feet lay a body, dead and abandoned; soulless and empty.

It turned to dust, scattering in the morning breeze and he shuddered. He was covered in the dead man’s soot, breathing it in, expanding his visions even more.

“The body. It is gone!”

They’re not hanging this one on me, Burroughs thought, and slipstreamed away.

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