There was a long time left for him to cross the ferry. But his self loathing and hate of other people made no sense to him. And most importantly his logic was undeniable. His existence had no meaning. He had always believed that his existence must have had a greater meaning. But no one really cared about him. Especially the ones he cared for. One day it was his time to leave this wretched place and journey to another place. Probably for better or for worse, this is for him to do. The carnival of souls were becoming too much for him to bear. And its almost as if he had locked him self up in his own hell and he could now escape the war that is with himself, by leaving this ghost town of hearts and a busy winter road that laid in front of him was his only solace. And could probably for him, the place in this world was a wooden box, six feet under.
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