Fields of hay; brown, swaying in the wind, shimmering in the sun, they lay before me. They stretched for miles on end and glistened as they called out to me. They sang songs of eternal joy. They made me happy and I gazed longingly as they sang to me, they beckon me now.
They say the fields are where the creepers stay but it beckoned me with such longing.
They watched me, they could smell my desire and I could sense theirs. I walked down the hill towards the valley of hay. A stream gurgled beside me as it passed over jagged rocks, eroding them with the passage of time. Pebbles lay beside it; a testament to the brutality of the sweet sounds it made. Dogs ran about me jumping with glee with incisors the size of my fingers, big enough to rip my throat out if needed. This is an evil, fickle place. A place of eternal danger. This is where I was born and this is where I have to stay.
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