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I cleared a space at the top of the painting to leave a message, I meant to give you interesting clouds scored through by light. Instead my brush did only horrifying things. I couldn't stop my hand, could only watch as I gave you a train sliding down into limitless rich blue water. Slowly to the bottom of the world, filled with the dead, full cargo of death. All so dark it was almost invisible like a bat on blue night sky. The painting suspended its slow motion, hung it forever.

It's only a painting, I say to us both. Once the words are out they turn on me and I can see that this is the worst part. Because it is only a painting it proves we were not there, we could not have been underwater to chronicle the slope of that weightless descent, we were elsewhere, busy breathing, we missed it, all those terrified invisible faces.

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