Friday, January 03, 2014
On Distant Mars
I'm pretty sure, long, long ago, some unfortunate member of a dying race trod his footsore way across this broken country. Back hunched, eyes to the ground, cloak wrapped around him to keep out the never ending cold. He moved slow for the air was thin. He moved without purpose for he was the last of his people. A dying race on a dying world.
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