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A storm sagged the June sky until it purpled. Wind moved the grass. A field that stretched on until the earth curved and disappeared.
They sat on the porch together, one rocking and one still.
“What is it feel like? To be dead, I mean?”
“It ain’t like nothing.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No. Burns though, like a muscle’s been used too much. And there’s a longing…a deep one can’t be fixed.”
“What happens after?”
“Ain’t no after. Ain’t no before neither. Just one big circle, turning. This is what you learn, see, before you forget it all again.”