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I feel the pain of a knife pierce through my heart each time the shovel thrust into the soil. Every scene written on these pages is annotate with vivid explaination to bring life back from my death. My dirty forehand wipe drips of sourish sweat from my mouth. I throw the shovel into the moist ground. The shovel blade bury itself halfway with its handle stuck upright, stand there under the full moon tonight like a tombstone for a burial ground. Death is art in the eyes of the beholder. I repeat those last words he screamed at me, “Nothing personal. It’s business.”, and stroll back to the car. In my thought, “You’re hiring a new publisher agent?”, I grin, “It’ll be Stranger in The Night.”, the perfect plot for my one and only fan, “You.” My hire killer gave me his sweet and caring smile. I kiss him back.

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