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A Quiet Wave


A quiet wave rolls proudly over the beach. Then it is transformed, into I do not know what. Yes, it was far more beautiful just before. Now I do not know what it has become. Yes. It was obviously absorbed by the mid-sized ocean, so much I have realized. It says no sound anymore. Not even a plop. It was so beautiful. It was on its way. It reached the coast and immediately gave up. I rummage around in my imagination for what such a previous wave is a metaphor for, and the answer comes to me: either my-self or Hugo Trade-Finchly, standing there in the shallow water. A terribly arrogant intellectual. Unimagineably


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(Most articles on The Other Newspaper are fictitious. The purpose of The Other Newspaper is to give the public a new, disturbing and humorous reflection of the way we consume news on traditional media and posts on the social media that make the recipient question whether the world needs to change and whether one can live online.)