There were days when it felt normal to lock myself away in the closest bunker til the blood rain had passed. There were days when I couldn't remember any other way of living. There were days when I felt like it'd be easier to die than love like this any more.
It always passes, is what the radio tells us, and true to their word it does always pass. What it leaves behind, however, varies from puddles deep enough to drown the unsuspecting to gargantuan corpses of creatures that couldn't possibly have existed in our world to shadowy echoes calling our names in voices long dead.
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