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Writer's pictureGwynne Weir

A little flash...

He exited the lift to find himself almost looking into a mirror. The figure before him wore the same long black robe, carried the same scythe with a glistening blade. Maybe this one was a little more glistening than his own, he mused.


The stranger's face was obscured by a white mask.

"Are you on your way to a Halloween party too?" He asked, his tone jovial.

The stranger stood silent for a moment, then the words floated to the man as if on a distant, foetid, breeze.

"Actually, neither of us are..."

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