Revenge by Javier Yung

Not satisfied with the small and sparkling orange goblet that seemed to illuminate the darkness in the distance, she darted back to the shed, groping fervently for its doorknob. The rusty hinges creaked and moaned as if crying pitifully for a major disaster was about to befall.

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phlegmatic celestiality by Constance Lupton

It was dull. It was phlegmatic. It was dim. How could a place which felt so spiritless be dissolving all philosophical conspiracies of being alone? I thrust open just one of the duplicate heavy and ancient doors at the posterior of the not so celestial building, with timid hands and shaking feet. I was at once gratified and thankful for my lack of achromatopsia as, although it was night outside, the street lights shone through the stained-glass windows, that lined the walls, creating coloured artwork on the dusty floor like watercolours paints on paper.

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