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Short story…

I crawled from my prison and stood in the light again. The sun on my face unfurled stories locked in my head. Scrounging for a piece of pencil, I scribbled my 140 size stories wondering if I am real. Am I just a character in a story ? My past seems vague, my future limited. In the time I will be book. Please if you read me let me know.


Kawaljit Singh

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