Distance: Path 4

Path 4: The Missing

The trees have faded away into their shadows. Silence creeps upon me. The screaming has stopped, and there is no sound at all. Everyone is gone now, and again, I reign alone in nothingness.

Hide in my freedom, my state of mind, of which there is nothing mindful.

My words just fall to the floor, and they make soft noises, unheard of. They just echo across me and find no shelter. What I speak tries to beg of what I knew, what I was running from. I keep shouting because I need to hear something. My screaming now dominates everything. I scream for something tangible. I beg for something to exist around me.

I am in the woods. Where are the trees and where is the light? There is no moon circling an orb lost in an inky stillness, there is no sense of anything familiar. This is a false place that exists only because I want it to, yet for something of my making, it all feels so strange and alien.

I am dead, and I am lost in the woods. I have come this far, into such wild and unknown territory, but I take no pride in exploration or the dangerous new things before me. I am just compelled to find that which I was separated from.

Separated from… no, not people, but places. That was what I wanted. I ducked away from the world to find some cold dark place where my brain could rest. I found it in my life, but it has led me to this place. I wanted a state of rest that would last forever, yet my mind is now still lost amongst insanity.

I’ve got my plan, I’ve got my mind, I’ve got my soul. I need only these things, and the path that I was cut away from. I needed to get away, but now I am lost in the darkness, trying to understand where I had come from.

I rest next to the trunk of what feels like a mighty oak in the darkness, and after a long span of time, light does return. It does not make me recall a morning sun in the forest; it is more putrid and colorless. Like a smog that brings with it illumination. Ash falls from the trees instead of leaves, and instead of a carpet of rotting plant material, below me feet I notice paper and refuse rotting below me. I don’t seem to notice a dip in the air’s quality, but I also take note that I am not breathing. I have to make a conscious effort now to push air in and out of my lungs, and even when I do, something feels alien and wrong about it now. Something I don’t need to bother with.

What I find ironic is my need to for other senses still. Air isn’t needed in my lungs, but I take a deep inhale of the air to gather the smell of this place, I still need my eyes before me to understand placement of the objects and terrain before my feet.

I wish to understand why I should be so bound to my corporeal form while adrift in the endless either of what has come when all things of me die away. I touch the trunk of the oak before me, a mighty tree casting a voluminous yet transparent shade. I’ve understood things as they are based on a very limited perception, I wonder if I am building this based on myself, or if it builds for me? Do I need everything before me as it is now, is it impossible for me to see anything beyond this façade?

Leaves crumpled under my feet as a very kind light shines down through the leaves, and I believe I am turning into the God that I spent so much time operating underneath out of fear. Born not to a religious family, but shoveled to it at one point. The need for many to cling to God stood out as odd against the mind of myself as a child. I grew out of the fables that were so commonly accepted in youth, I would often wonder why adults would still hold a few of those stories as truth. I came to understand this of course, as I grew into one of those adults. The tedium and harsh trials that we are all so fraught with, we invent a greater purpose to it, because with the idea of paradise, we can toil in life, content that bliss will soon follow. There was never to be a heaven on Earth. Standing in these woods now after my body has been burned and forgotten, I almost wish my cynical thinking about death was right. This is not paradise, and all I wanted was rest.

With hands not set on eternity, and minds set to idle torment, I begin to find philosophy and spirituality both profoundly useless things. I used to stand for things, I used to champion things triumphantly, and now I’m lost in the woods, with nothing but my mind, which also seems lost to wandering.

Everyone… everyone close, far away. As I stand here digging into my mind, I’m finding more and more of what I was in life, how many times I was hurt. Grasping at emotions I want to think of as petty, I feel an immenseness of insecurity take over me. I had siblings, I remember that now.

I wander through the trees and find two couches gathered amongst a television. I stand and watch as though some odd observer at what I know is something pulled from myself. Arguments are being waged in two directions, and for whatever reason, I am treated as the center of blame for both.

My parents, my brothers, I now remember why I wished for my memories to remain out of this form. I don’t need to spend my afterlife contemplating how much I loathed my family. I could spend hours in a very boring and analytical fashion trying to surmise how horribly they ruined my mental facility, but these events play out… and watching as a third party, I tend to find it rather fascinating.

They were always far too willing to be the pictures everyone painted of them. Others speak of hatred, so they become hatred, others speak of scars long past, and so new wounds are brought forward. They were all so amazingly selfish and shortsighted. Thinking only of what suited their means, and caring little for who they hurt in the process. I strived to avoid that.

Never wanted the damage I created. Wanted to think that made me different. Destruction lay around me just as it lay around them, but I mourned it, I wanted to repent for all the wrong I had done. Stupid faces around me, they bask in it, asking the world for more favors and then stomping on any that offer consequence. I often found it amusing that I was more mature then they, when I was a child and they were the grownups.

What a remarkable example they set forward.

I know how it works. They avoid me, they don’t care about what I am. I can’t help but to notice that I shouldn’t care about that child either. They sit content to hate on one another, and the child wanders away. Scream at everything until the ground shakes, but he can’t hear them.

Wait, where’s he going?

I follow, past the pointless yelling I recall.

Never concerned about who’s lives are going to be ruined. Never concerned about what the right thing to do is. Let everyone else suffer for the sake of one. Only thing I ever learned from all of it was to be cautious. Only love the people that love me, only fight the people that fight me. Reach out with trepidation, and be prepared for everything.

Mostly though, be prepared for an outrageous amount of bullshit.

Guns sound off in places where I used to meet people. I would not call them friends, but stepping over the dead and injured, I see that I’m in a forest of buildings that seem more run down than I remember. When strolling past in my early teens, I was jumped and got the shit kicked out of me. I remember this place.

Blood obscures the vision in one of my eyes, I taste something foul in my mouth, and I cough and gag. They’re walking away, big and strong men that could beat on a child. I laugh at them, both then and now. They need to do more to make me feel it. Growing up as I did, they could rip me to shreds, and I’d spit in their faces and say that they’ve got nothing on me. Scream at them, demand more, even! One told me this was the path to gratification, why should I fear this? Cut on me, beat on me! I’ll just laugh.

Sirens in the street, another place that I would meet some of the people I’d call friends. Courtyard in the rain, slick surface makes it hard to stand, and I’m doing my best to avoid responsibility. Wandering a complex and strip malls left unwanted, I tried to demand that the world unfold itself to me. There seemed secrets at that time that begged of knowledge, like I could solve life as though it were a riddle. Clues left to make me look backwards and forwards, questioning which direction I should travel.

I’m watching so many versions of myself intersect as I stand on top of a roof. All of different ages and mind. One is still devout, another is highly cynical, they all stop just short of each other, and look upwards. They all came from the same place, but were lost along the way. I was never very good with directions. The questions that seemed to demand an answer became less focused, less meaningful, and eventually, they all led inwards. Questions of the universe became questions of my self and others.

I look at the sky, and my foot slips. The motion of my body makes me recoil for a moment, but I see it all happening so slowly, and I start to relax and accept this event. The wind on my face as I plunge towards the street below makes me feel at ease, but the pavement looks too frail to break my fall.

Standing on the street, I’m watching an older version of myself fall helplessly, but for the brief moment I see his face, he looks serene. There’s a slight thud when he hits, and none of the other versions of my self say or do anything, we stand near the spot where he hit the street below, and look downwards, seeing nothing.

A hole in the trunk of a tree, I think the child ran into this, some secret hideaway that he forced into existence. I hear him shouting and yelling at something inside, but there’s no way I could crawl through so narrow a space.

The ground was slick with frost, and I was traversing a major highway, early in the morning, setting out to kill my Saturday in the most startlingly lame way possible. I watched a friend tumble on the ice, three folk from a warm part of the world, not used to walking through cold and ice. We laughed.

Same highway, and I’m alone. I trip and smash my nose into the pavement. I’ve got twenty miles to walk, because everyone forgot about me again. I feel the same as I did years ago. Hide the feelings of fear and doubt with anger. I wasn’t wrong. I just wasn’t worth the effort.

That feeling when I was a child, and I realized no one was ever going to take care of me. I steeled myself away, shut down, and within the blink of an eye, the world went from being wonderful and wide, to a harsh tiny little orb full of worthless, spineless people.

I’m walking down a different road, but it intersects with that same highway. The sea breeze chills me to a degree, but it’s a comfortable feeling. No one’s sent out looking for me, and I’ve been gone a very long while. I find it funny, that years from that point, I would be walking that road again, thinking different things, but traversing it for the same reasons.

Told that everyone cares, and wants to help, yet when the time came, and the situation grew dire, all I saw were slack jawed fools looking at me like it was all somehow my fault. I had to take it all, and I had to understand that no one would say sorry, that no one would look at me and ask me to forgive them. They knew they could trample me, and so they did.

I am spending time in my late teens with people I don’t even like. A woman is spending money on me. Desperate for affection… I…

The path!

Trees shoot out around me again, and I look around the woods, wondering where that trail went to. I killed her memory to get back to it, and again I have strayed. How many parts of myself do I need to destroy before it reveals itself again?

The stillness of this place sets me to unease. I run in any direction I can, spreading myself wide before the gulf that threatens to make this all just ebb away. I will find it, I will reach the end.

My foot snags at something, and there’s an impact I make with my skull.

Screaming, chaos, I’m lost in a fog. I grip at leaves and dirt and try to pull myself to my feet. I smell smoke, and I look behind me and see the front end of a car wrapped around a tree. I find it slightly confusing that a car could manage to crash itself in the woods. I don’t think it belongs here. I see my trail has come from the front seat, where I see the glass of the windshield creating a spider web that echoes of the impact my skull made upon it.

In the cluttered thoughts trying to rush their way to the front of my brain, I see time stand still, as the scene rebuilds itself. Everything is back where it belongs. I am beside them, I am not with them. I see the other vehicles involved in the pile up. I’m dizzy and can’t see straight, and I can’t even be angry when I’m yelled at. I’m just baffled. I wasn’t driving the car, why am I being yelled at? How the hell did my head do that kind of damage without exploding?

The woods again are clear and wide, and they before me have no sense of self or understanding. Time is not a concern, nor will it ever be, even the wind is not propelled by anything other than pure will. I am unsure if I am its maker, or if it made me. It waited patiently for me to die, and would always be here to show me the pointless struggles and how I endured them, beside this place. It was something I always carried with me. Or maybe it was always like this… perhaps it needed to create conflict to see reason? I begin to wonder if I am a mere construct of some grand boredom of creativity. A nothing person in an empty place, trying to conjure thoughts on why anything is everything.

The child is on the floor and is alone. All he wonders is when anyone will come home. In a strange way he feels better in the fear, because it is a fear of the unknown, and not the things he must dread on a daily basis.

God and the Devil were seen as one being, mother and father equal in their uselessness. To an extent, I feel terrible that the same hollow nature crept into my soul. The friends that had their notions and ideas, they swim as a single blurred image, smiling with both the living and the dead. Can’t separate them from anything now, can’t tell them apart.

Becoming a character, living in delusion, and the goals set before that child, the things he could aspire to become, a guise thrown at his feet to keep him in line. His past was given to assist a person he despised, and he gained only the madness that seems so prevalent in his blood. Not walking in circles, but still becomes the very thing he hates. Always the case… never any different.

I’m wandering, not knowing if I’m looking for the path, or the child that has run away from me. Beside this place, maybe I could warn him, maybe I could help him avoid what I’ve become?

A glow spreads amongst the canopy of the forest, a vivid green that sways like a fire in a heavy wind. It brings me to a part of myself that seemed warm and kind, an exterior that I was comfortable with the world viewing.

Very quickly, shadows start to linger in the flickering colors. I see the tops of the trees spell out the doom that was always two footsteps behind me, smiling. I touch things, and they lose color, they lose their ability to catch and create sound. Without voices, they call me a liar.

They stared at me, and assumed I was thick skinned. To laugh in the face of such adversity and tragedy, I had to either cope with things easily, or allow myself to become another broken and useless being. There was a long stretch of time, when even I did not know which category I fell under.

Flickering shadows of what I really was trying to surface. I find the child standing before me, and he is smiling like a bastard. He has no need to hide his demons, the well of his soul runs deep, and has often been a fount for such awful things to remain in existence. Everything buried just bubbling up now, overflowing and spewing out. Every fear, hatred, every joyful moment shattered, every dream. All of it jutting out in liquid form, climbing upwards around the trees.

I look at him, and he looks through me. I am a hollow vessel, meant only to observe, he has taken it all inside of him, he swallowed every last drop, and he thirsts for more.

In the hospital bed as a child, with pain so immense and seemingly endless, and I was stone faced. Whenever I was faced with dire moments and challenges, I did not rise like the champions in all those books I read. I broke down, and I blamed myself.

It was always my fault. Ever since I was a child, everything was my fault.

I was sitting alone in a cold and depressing place, huddled in the corner of my room with a cross around my neck that burned with the knowledge of all that I could have said, all I could have done. Everything that existed around me was some crude mockery. All of it a hollow construct that I was building to keep myself afloat, things I would use to blind myself to what I was thinking. If my thoughts were empty, then I would not mourn my actions, I would be able to block out the sounds of arguing, and then my mind could have some reprieve.

The times spent alone in that shell, it was meant to be called home, yet ironically I only felt a sense of welcome and calm when I left it. Wandering to places that didn’t want me, places where I didn’t belong. I wanted to be in those places, I wanted to be a part of them.

How I would travel far and wide to find the small corners of the world where my mind could rest. I traveled by foot to so many places, just to look at how the world around me functioned without any care as to where I was, or why. No one knew me, nor would they ever want to. At most my interactions were based solely on commerce. No need for false smiles and apathetic greetings. Like electricity following a circuit, the world around everyone was just a means to an end, a way to get from point A to point B.

How I would cherish the wind battering me as the waves crashed over the walkway. The early warning of a great storm late at night on the beach, the chilled air and violent clouds always seemed like a dear friend, and I would welcome them with open arms. Everyone would panic, listening to the news as to how such a thing could cause death and mayhem. Yet as I looked into it, I was amazingly at ease. I welcomed those storms, like dear friends I had long not seen, returning to me with wonderful news. They would remove anything that had emerged in their absence that they did not like. Suffer nothing trivial that the world puts up as a buffer. They are absolute.

How I would look above me now and see the tops of the trees recreate such a feeling. Turning my head back down towards the earth, I see the child standing before me. He is smiling with the knowledge of what I really am.

We are nothing alike, in spite of being one in the same. This nature of mine, forever divided amongst self, forever excluded from all the things both halves of me crave. His idea of the world, my idea of the world, they differ so drastically, yet unite here and form a reality that is as cohesive as it is vague. I am master, and slave; a no one set to walk nowhere.

The little number and title I was assigned in life, seems so pointless to both of us. This is why we stare at one another, smiling. There are many themes that connect us, those moments where both halves come together and reach understanding.

Offensive and callous, the only things I ever agree upon are the thoughts I’m told by everyone not to have. They do not want me to tread there, because they cannot explain it. It is not something comfortable to talk about. Discomfort it something everyone tries to avoid. It doesn’t matter how critical it is to a person, if it makes everyone else feel awkward or ill at ease, then it is shoved away, never to be spoken of.

I try to look at both sides of my mind, and figure which one has enough gravity to pull me back to the path. More than that, I wonder which of me is the pure one, or the one motivated least by personal vendettas. There are other factors I should consider as well, but I don’t, because those are not good things to think about. I never denied that I was a hypocrite. Maybe I should find that amusing? I can’t even begin to think of these things when the only audience I have is my own broken perception.

Where am I in all of this? Between two minds I feel caught, like I’m not within either, but I’m wholly a part of both. Through the eyes of one, I see both, but I’m not…

I could likely spend all my time just fighting off confusion, and considering the knowledge that time doesn’t exist in this place, (much as it didn’t in life) I’m actually very tempted to be under the sway of just looking at myself doubled and singular. Like a mirror set in front of a mirror, it just casts out endless views of myself that my mind sees as something separate from itself.

The current is pulling at me though, and eventually, I sort out reflection, and everything falls back into an orderly place. From youth to adulthood, from innocence to damnation, a picture standing still as chaos erupts around it. So many times shuffled about, so many times forgotten, so many nights spent wondering if I would ever find a soul that would watch over mine, something that would guide me through hell, and make a distinction between the shades of gray.

I find a clearing in the woods that seems bright and cheery, but that is not what lifts my spirits. I find the trail lying before me yet again in this clearing. This time the trail is set as red bricks lined in an ornate weave. Eagerly I rush towards it, throwing my knees and hands upon its surface.

Walking down it again, the trees take an orderly look to them, single file, like the groves I remember passing on the highway. They bear strange fruit, and I’m not even remotely tempted to bite at one of them… likely because they provide no sustenance now.

I am a paper thin thing now, traveling along a two dimensional image plastered across the fields of thought that run through me like splintering rivers. Expression hard to see, detail lost, for the sake of trying to remember very binary and pointless details. Were they smiling, arguing, or were they just standing around, doing nothing, like myself? There was often joy in that idleness. Though, there was also much anger in it at times. Seething in silence, waiting for someone else to talk.

I went to see a shadow that was chasing me. I allowed it pursuit, because it meant that something was actively thinking of me at all times. If I was feared, hated, or loved, that didn’t matter. I was something relevant again.

Hand sifting through water as I lie beside the pool, tiny ripples of sunlight jutting out as I gently splash, my hands making a strangely ornate light show, breaking the beams over and over. Acting profoundly lazy I suppose, but I remember rolling over and looking at others, telling jokes to break a comfortable silence. The main activity to pass the time was thinking of ways to pass the time.

The clouds cover the sky, and there is a harsh chill. My thin reflection is standing in a field, one he’s held to tend like a slave. With no voices demanding anything of him, he looks at the dark sky, and feels bonded with it. The wind brushes through his hair, and makes a sound like music, like people talking far away.

He is walking down a trail, one that carves itself north and south along the coast of an island. Things are busy, and he is not annoyed or thrilled with it, but fascinated, like how a biologist would study the wild world. The cars, the roads, in a different light, they are no different than the rest of the world, they are just painted differently to bring us comfort, to say that we have somehow transcended something immensely pointless.

I am standing by the water… rather I am watching myself stand by the water. A rather large pond in the middle of the woods, an area made by man, to dump plants now thought of as refuse. Pure forms of roads that cut through the nature seem naked and alone now. They serve the same purpose as always, but are now surrounded by the life they wish to sunder. Both seem oddly content, and the sky is violent.

That thing I call myself, the frail body I have left behind to a poor world, he is crying in his room, as silently as he can, hoping that no one will see or hear him act this way. He is parting himself of the material items he thinks bring him sanity, but he is facing reality more and more each day. He is left to a task that is not his, and he abides it, welcomes it even, when all his form should shout out against it. I cannot question him, as I cannot question myself. If I do not know now, I never shall. Perhaps he was desperate for something to brag of as an accomplishment, something to prove to others that his time spent living was of some value? That didn’t matter though, walk away from that and see how little impact he had. No one was saved. All of the sacrifices he made meant absolutely nothing. No one was ever going to thank him, repay him, or acknowledge him.

He is confused in the streets, after having been beaten for seemingly no reason. He returns home, and no one notices the bruising, or the bloodied nose. They ignore it like they ignored him when he was ill. He finds a spot where no one can see him, and he cries, as he often does. That child wants the world to make sense, he wants it to be the kind and pure thing he’s seen so many stories about, yet all of the significant moments of his life are of conflict and abuse. He learns nothing from these, and only prays that maybe one day, all the bad things will just fall away. He learns to fear laughter, to cower and hide, he learns that any contact he has with people is something to be nervous and frightened of. He wishes things could be different for him.

Wishes never come true.

From one wandering down the side of a street, to two. We were at our prime, in both our bravery, and ignorance. Joking about this time of our lives, and the people we tried to impress for the sake of our own stupid accomplishments. Failure can be a comforting thing when everyone’s laying their shit on the table. I just wanted laughter. Blinding myself away from the things that made me think of endings and tears, I wanted to make light of all that I should take seriously, to spit in the face of all that was before me. From two to three, a group now more dissonant, yet still with a theme for amusing ourselves with the profound. Take the complexity of the universe we were given, and let in languish in our crude forms of humor. As these themes and gatherings grew, I became complacent, and saw my role diminish. I was always the expendable one, no matter where I tried to acclimate myself. Always resting upon some wall with my arms crossed trying to ignore people yelling over one another, somewhat both annoyed and content in that place.

Walking like drunkards marching to their doom, many then reduced to two. Take a good and clear look at the gods that stood in our way, we walked around them. We had all the reason to question our own morality, much less that of the kind we were set to by old and primitive hands. We knew where the sun would be, even when it did not shine. We knew, and that made us mighty.

So we thought. Ways part just as easily as waves.

Bravery hides fear, fear covers the motives we wished to hide. I needed to get away, but could not understand what that really meant. I thought I needed a change of pace, a new start. To flee from the men and women that caused such strife in my thoughts. Good company could keep me amused, but it could not keep me sane. I returned to a place I could not call home, to people that did not care for my presence. In a small space, deep thoughts turned me to dark ways, and terrible dreams. I wanted to leave… worse than that, I had to leave.

It was worth it, I think, and that’s the most terrible aspect of it. All of my lamentations of what happened to me, the fears un-caged and let loose, I thought they were still important parts of me. It mattered, all of it did. Standing and watching walls flex inwards and outwards and the chill air robbing me of warmth and sound mind. The storms and the boredom, and I sat and looked out at nothing. Wondered how I would escape, and wonder what I would do if I did, where I would go, pointless things like that.

From many, to one. Roads less traveled now before me, and no one stands beside me, in front of me, or behind me. I’ve finished it all! I’m traversing this path, and I’m doing so because I had everything. I finished it all! My world complete, my life now spent, as it was always made to expire. I’m walking along transparent stones that carry me across the ocean, and the moon and the stars are so bright and full of warmth. They provide unity and a homely feeling I never had amongst friends or family. So many wanted only to beat me down, pollute my mind to prove right their own ill assumptions. They did not see my form shattering. They did not feel empathy when they saw tears. As I look up, I feel welcome, and properly understood by the lucent orb guiding the tide.

The waves crash against this crude bridge, and they need to, the pull of gravity says they must, but they retreat away and act almost mournful as they depart this solidified trail. They collide and splash over, covering my body with foam and water.

I hold my arms out, and close my eyes as my feet carefully step over the wet and hollow stones. The churning of the water becomes increasingly agitated, and the taste of salt never leaves my lips. The wind is strong and pushes at my back as much as my front, shifting directions at random. The sound it makes as it rushes past my ears is enchanting.

My foot reaches down again, and finds nothing. I stumble, and fall off of the trail, and into the sea. Normally it was always impossible for my eyes to see in water, but now there is clarity, and I feel no pressure to expel air, as I do not take any into me. The deep and dark is approaching me, and I am falling away, watching the moon beams shatter as they hit the surface, reminding me of when I sat bored beside the pool that late summer afternoon.

I am brought back to everything within an instant, but in a blurred and hazy tone. A perception of myself as a child holding back tears in anger, aware that he does not carry enough weight or power to stop those he considers evil, or wrong. From the mistakes he warned himself of, to the ones he made all on his own, and no guidance was ever offered to distinguish the two from one another. It fell to the floor like a glass he held in his hands. His feet stepping on the broken pile, then he was set to pulling shards of glass from his scalp after the crash. Getting beaten, and beating others, insecurity leading to the horrors he always wanted to flee from. The monster under the bed was the child himself, hiding and crying, avoiding the wrath of his family. The weak link in a loser’s game. None of the idiots aware that the world they gave away was one they made by their own hands.

Not sure if it was a game, not sure if it was worth the play, not sure of anything, a reckless idiot trying to see what’s fair and what’s deserved. Trying to make everyone happy, when he was always pissed off at the universe that spawned him. Wishing to remain motionless in the still of night, where his awareness seemed at its peak, and he could finally become what he thought himself to truly be. No one was needed to make him like this. What those close made of him, was something they could never quite grasp, or something they often just didn’t care for. But now I’m finding myself truly welcome, a surge of comfort I’ve never quite known.

I’m surrounded by the cool water on all sides, and it is so amazingly peaceful. The surface can be as violent as it wishes. I sink to the bottom, and notice nothing of its trifles. All of that confusion and movement, now only creates slight tugs that lull me into a serenity of mind and body.

I see no trail above me, and as I sink into the water, the chill of the ocean welcomes me, but an annoying thought rests at the back of my mind.

How did I die?

–  –  –  –  –

It’s hard to wake up
When the shades have been pulled shut
This house is haunted
It’s so pathetic
It makes no sense at all.
I’m ripe things to say
The words rot and fall away.
If one stupid poem could fix this home
I’d read it every day.

So here’s your holiday!
Hope you enjoy this time, you gave it all away!
It was mine
So when you’re dead and gone
Will you remember this night? Twenty years now lost.
It’s not right.

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