From the cliff

From the cliff I can see another country.

Behind me I hear whispers and the rustling of long grass. Men. They have guns. A dog.

I cannot stand up. I stay crouched and edge forwards.

The moon nears the edge of the cloud. As it bursts out magnesium

I run fall roll to the cliff edge. The sea grass cuts my hands.

As I fall I see the other country.

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