We were living a supposed safe place. At odd moments, we would come across these tally marks on a wooden bridge, indicating people had been murdered. And suddenly, all these men were in prison cells because they were suspected murderers. We would go along more days feeling safe and serene, and on the night of a dance, we discovered a copious amount of tally marks on the wooden bridge. More people had been imprisoned, and the water beneath the bridge had turned mucky and brown.
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