#INSTAFICTION "Feathers go up, up, up to see the sky. Feathers go up, up, up to see the sky" That's my ma said when someone was killed.
The blame remains for the time that won't be gone for so long. The song won't be forgotten by them. They're alone. We'd been gone. The hatred remainds the same. The anger won't leave my peaceful circumstance for a while under this tree. I wander anywhere to go, to know and to long for the fair life. It's not simple as the memory was so hateful.
I lived like the others, but the others don't think I live like them. My father had passed away. I had lost my mother as she was drowned into the river. The hatred to my ma is the same hatred to me. The death of me is so precious.
The walking was so heavy along the path of my lonely life. I don't want to have the intention again. Let them sick. Let them cry. Let them with the fear. I lived for my own life now. I don't want to help. They say I am ignored by their exiatence. They want me to be not around.
Walk down over the hill, meet the river beside me and the history comes to me. It reminds me the disappointment. She loved too much to them. She died too fast by them.
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