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Literature Text
A pariah in his own right, he rarely spoke. He braved the days; endured the nights, nursing an unhealing heart. They cast dirty looks; spoke ill in hushed tones; pointed; accused; scorned; he endured.
They called him names; he laughed. They rejected him; he smiled. They spat ill words; he feigned deafness.
Like storm winds, they beat on him, a frail withered tree. He was broken and unbroken at the same time.
Through the end, he bowed. The winds settled; he was broken and unbroken, still.
So they cast stones at him.
He endured as long as he could.
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One hundred words, not including the title. This is relaxing.
They called him names; he laughed. They rejected him; he smiled. They spat ill words; he feigned deafness.
Like storm winds, they beat on him, a frail withered tree. He was broken and unbroken at the same time.
Through the end, he bowed. The winds settled; he was broken and unbroken, still.
So they cast stones at him.
He endured as long as he could.
------------------------------------------------------------
One hundred words, not including the title. This is relaxing.
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Something I wrote over 3 months ago.
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