![Luna-Tic](images/rr12lunatic7.jpg)
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At school, I stumbled to my desk. My body, a crater filled with fear and dread. My hands flitted like flies, pulling my hair, slapping my face. I groped for paper and pencil. Anything . Scribbles meant to be words landed on the paper. "The moon, what a beautiful object." No, too fancy! Up above was the moon, chortling at my failure, watching my demise.
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