A grinding machine begins its halt. Flat on my back watching the sun. The sirens recede; perception fades. But something is there before the void. It isn't over. Of this I don't know. In these last moments the gate is open. Pulled towards the center, an unreal place. My vision turns inward, I see the shades of those who I ruined, of those to come. They watch me descend. The black unknown. Inside a dream I can't awake. Somewhere between life and death. The color of sleep. The unreal in front of me. Keep going on. I see the path before me: no choice but to go on.
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