cramming the world into a (phrase)
#14
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indent Behind his teeth, Ahren’s tongue rolled, striking metal against bone. The barbell was the only other constant in his life—he had not removed it since the day that he had first struck it in place. Of all his markings and signs, the simple piece of metal meant the most. It signaled his independence. It signaled his exile. For this reason, and because he had nothing concrete to hold onto (his parents were dead, he had no siblings, he had lost his home) he found comfort in it.
indent Their eyes were almost the same. Almost, but not quite. Ahren’s darkened considerably at the words, and that second secret darkness flitted in quickly. His jaw stiffened slightly, and his hands convulsed once, curling in momentarily. It was an automatic response. To what, even he couldn’t be sure. “No more then I,” he said lowly, unaware he looked close to laughing or baring his teeth. “No more then anyone else here. This place isn’t exactly pure,” he nearly spat, hands dropping to the pouch on his hip for a cigarette.





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