false empathy | xiii

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The story revolved around a little shepherd boy whose life was as boring and as dull as a broken clock.

Everyday, he would wake up well before dawn and prepare his breakfast.

Everyday, he would tend to his herd of sheep far out in the mountains.

Everyday, he would sleep late on his bed, exhausted and tired.

Then he woke.
Then he worked.
Then he slept.

His life went like this, for a
long,
long,
long,
long,
time.

Since he had never met another human like him before,
the boy didn't know what loneliness felt like.

He wasn't sad, but he wasn't happy, either.

Then one day, as he was leaning underneath the shade of a tree, a raven perched on its lowest branch.

In its beak, it held a small pocketwatch that ran backwards.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.

The boy looked up at the bird.

The raven, after a moment, spoke to him.


"Hello. My name is Cuckoo. I'm a guardian of death," it said.

"... Seven days from today, you are going to die."

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