Marmalade-perplexingartist

I gaze down at my hands as I watch the red drops slowly fall past my fingertips, traveling through the empty space between my palm and the ground, waiting for the floor to embrace it. The first droplet falls to the ground, then more begin to parade after it, eventually becoming what is to be a crimson-colored pool. I raise my hand up to inspect it. The sight reminds me of the strawberry marmalade I used to make with mom. There'd be no more of that though; my time runs short. The deed is done. I'm finally ready to meet my maker.
The End

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