He woke up late, very late. He looked at the clock, three. Wait, why didn’t his alarm ring? It didn’t matter to me. He was late.
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<br/>Up he got in a marvellous haste unseen to a regular day, through the library and out the door, though the books called for him, “no,” it was too late.
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<br/>There was work he needed to complete, a capacious collection of constellations to conjure. He ran weak, his feet heavy, not light. Would he make it in time, could his feet compete?
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<br/>The planetarium waited, as if abandoned.
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<br/>He ran. He ran.
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<br/><em>(cont. comments)</em>