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It was like in a western set in the modern times. The long, empty road with dust flowing into the air, and the rawhide gliding throughout the road as a Enrico Morricone song played in the back of my mind. It was like an adventure begging to happen, a duel yet to be finished. In my mind, I soared, like an eagle over the scene, watching from afar as, in the calm and desolate land below, nothing happened. I perched myself on a nearby bridge, looking at the long dusty road and the river nearby, remnants of what seemed like an old battle now floating at the bottom of the murky waters. I shouted my birdcry, only to be responded by the echo of the emptiness around me. The loneliness, the hot temperature and a certain feeling of déja-vu hit me then. It almost seemed like I was alone in some sort of post-apocalyptic modern world, a lone eagle, the sole survivor of the living creatures of earth. The music in my head suddenly got more dark, more threatning, but I feared not, for in this story, I was no hero, only a mere observer.
And then, a gunshot. A second gunshot, and a third came crashing into the eerie silence. But still no one was there, no one but me and my music in my mind. But I could hear the silence, now resonating even louder, making it even clearer that no one was there. I was alone. I opened my eyes on the near-empty street before me, my bag in my very human hands, my lips humming a tune. Dust flowed in the air, and I saluted a construction worker, hitting the road with his hammer. I left my imaginary behind, and got ready to start work.. But I knew that if I wanted, I could go back at any time to my dream, because that also never ends.
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