The two stood frozen with perplexity. Not in space but in time.

Five others buzzed like May Beetles through a corrupted spring, then June bugs filling the air of a smoggy summer.

There was little joy even though knew they would leave it a poisoned memory, and vociferously and violent was the feel of air held in their lungs. They were sentinels of incertitude concurring with certitude until the summer’s bottom gave out.

Autumn fell and at last their knees creaked into motion. Long would the confusion and bewilderment of the events that had passed remain fresh in their minds though, and even some years later they failed to understand logic the beetles promised would be self-evident. At least one of them would eventually realize that that is what the acquaintance of a liar feels like.

Like itchy-footed sailors, they fled to the freedom of an open sea. The two never returned home, even though the liar promised them they would.

The two now walk far apart, and I only know half of where they roam.




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