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Smoke spreads across the morning grass, as if trying to hide what cannot be hidden. The world, where yesterday the school bell rang, is silent today amid the falling leaves. The air tastes of ashes and unspoken words. The song is like the flickering of a light bulb before it goes out: alive, nervous, still breathing, but already knowing that the light is not eternal. And amid all this, there is a warm touch, a father hugging his son, the last human boundary before madness. Scary, tender, and hopelessly beautiful - like a prayer said too late.