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Flash Fiction

Final Call

10:18 Four minutes until gate closing.

My legs are cramping. I pick up the pace.

10:19 My lungs are burning. 

I suck in more air.

10:20 My vision is blurring. 

I run on in darkness.

10:21 I'm almost there.

I will make it after all.

A disembodied voice over the speakers makes the call: 

"Time of death: 10:22"

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