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Well, after fifteen years of hiding, I can finally concede that there is nothing good in life for me to see. And every morning’s waking is a morning gone to waste – oh, it is only time that moves me through the day. So what keeps a body going? It’s more a habit than a faith, and there is always someone standing in my way, but the wheels are getting rusty – and each second comes out old – and I am finally to the point of letting go. All old, all young – it takes every soul. My mouth was hanging open. My lips were turning blue – I had accomplished what I’d waited years to do. And the blood pooled out around me like a ripple or a dream – Oh, how could all of this have come from me? And a figure in the corner moves down upon my frame, stepping lightly to avoid my spattered brain. As he took my letter from me, I rasped out for his name as he knelt down to what used to be my face. All old, all young, it takes every soul. When we put her body under, well, I finally felt relief – Oh, it was good to get that corpse under my feet! After fifteen years of trying, there’s just so much you can take when everything she says keeps pushing you away. But the note I found that evening, well, I read it every day. ‘It was God himself who made me feel this way, so if he can take his pleasure from prolonging my pain, I will win the day by taking it away!’ All old, all young, it takes every soul.