The fresh is fading with the amber sunset, sinking, shrieking, swallowed by the masses; turned tail and ran for the horizon never once glancing back, all the while flicking off the flecks of metastasizing sadness and fear. Upon reaching its destination, fresh decided to turn for one last stand, one mighty battle of the wits on who would win the sallow siren. Fresh flew through the dusk, limbs tangled and nerves jangled. Just as it clears hurtles of tears and mountains of loneliness and sorrow thrown before it to halt its resurgence, it realizes how flossed the obstacles are, how easy to destroy. It takes just a bit of fresh to refresh the freshness.