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The Unforgotten

Max walked down the alley. He was walking with purpose and meaning, a sense of emergency in the strides he took. Time was not waiting and it wasn't for the wasting. He was thinking of how autumn felt when winter arrived.

His fingers felt like they were asleep, like thousands of dull needles pricking them. He glanced at the tip of his fingers and could see through them.

Damn, he thought. Not yet. Not now.

His cell phone chimed, but he wasn't in the mood to answer it. He was glancing around the walls and looking for something. He continued to walk briskly, scanning the walls and the doors. He could feel the pins moving down his fingers, and at the moment he was scared to look at them.

"There it is," Max muttered. He stopped at a wall with several graffiti symbols on it and then he tapped the wall in various places. The wall shimmered a little and Max stepped through, with a look of relief on his face.