“Who are you?”
“Why are you purple?”
“Why do you look like a dried plum?”
“Why are there stones on your hand?”
The insults roared through the field like a wind breeze
He tried to block it out
But he couldn’t
His anger boiled and boiled
Sooner than later it was about to turn 212 degrees Fahrenheit!
BOILING POINT!!!
“Go back to where you belong!”
“The Purple Man” took the football
“Set Hut”
He snapped his fingers
and everything went quiet
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your vision, your voice