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Coming Home
It's a strange feeling to stand on top of your own grave. I brushed aside the overgrowth to expose the face of my tombstone. A chill crept up my spine as my own name stared back at me, a cold reminder of the past set in granite. It was hard to believe fifteen years had passed since I'd disappeared from this place. Ten since I'd had come back from the dead. I sighed, then gazed past my tombstone, into the forest, and remembered. I could still see the shock on my father's face when I...
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