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Harry awoke from his slumber beneath a pile of newspapers and finished off the bottle of vodka he'd bought with his life savings the night before. Next, he went scavenging through his favorite dumpster next to the decrepit old Chinese restaurant on the corner of 8th and Murray. After fighting off several rabid cats, a heroin addict, and an oversized racoon, he made a meal of some several day-old sweet and sour chicken and some maggot-infested fried rice.

With a bloated tummy and alcohol coursing through his brain, he took to the streets for another day of panhandling and robbing old ladies. At around this same time the voices in his delusional mind started up again. They told him to do things. Bad things. Things involving knives and fire. Things that made the baby Jesus cry. And on this particular day - with the sun shining in the big blue sky, with birds chirping in the trees, with bees buzzing by merrily doing whatever the Hell it is bees do, and the laughter of children filling the warm air - the voices told him to...
Burn
End Of Story

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