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This dark place, a curse for what I did, starts to sound like whimpering. The whimpers start soft, but then sound louder as footsteps grow closer, even though I am technically all over. As a bright light fills the room, I see a little boy turning on a night to get rid of me, the dark. The boy is small, and he hates the dark. He has tear stains running down his cheeks. The light starts to be burn as I die, waiting for the next night to have the same, painful death. Why did I have to murder the children in the dark and become the dark?

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