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Primal Pain

Last night. Again, the blue lights. This time not a baby, a man. On the ground, surrounded by people in uniforms, people with guns, pale skin catching the blue light. His dark skin shadowed by his hood, by the moonless night, by the dark shadow cast by the car. Yelling orders. Through his wail he cried "Please don't shoot me. I didn't do anything. Please don't shoot me." It was the same wail. Pain made into sound.

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