The wind roars as I walk this road. Perhaps its yells are of importance. But of that knowledge, I may never know. All I can say is to listen to the wind. Listen through its gentle breeze and bellowing rage. Listen as the willow softly weeps. And perhaps one day you might hear something. Although most times its words are never clear, sometimes, if you listen, you can hear the whispers of the wind. The breath of the world.
I entered upon an open field set apart from the road on which I walked. It seemed far. And distance messes with the mind. But I believed I saw a chainlink fence, barbed wire at its top. It circled a building round and round keeping all within. Seeing this I did believe I should get back to the road. For darkness stands and I still, await the light that's at the end. Yet something still called me back to the fence that I had seen. A chilling haunting ghastly wind that was blowing through the grass. I turned back. As one does when faced with such a chill. For mystery is appealing. And strangeness has an attraction. As curiosity leads on. I followed. There I saw the children. About two hundred there must have been. They slept on beds of stone, a single blanket for the cold. For their care, there were more children. As kids take care of kids. Take a child, place a guard and still, it's all the same. Where are the parents? Where have family's gone? And a...
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