While crying, some of the punishment washed away.

Some of the anger turned outward
And, as it was fire, it shed some light.

This is a lot, isn’t it?
A reasonable, long-silent voice asked, sounding sad.

A lot?

It is, I suppose. It’s my lot.

Like anyone else’s lot, it counts.

Yes. This is a lot.

Standing up amongst the rubble,

I feel something begin.


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