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The Setting of a Murder

Sometimes I wake up, take one look out my window, and wish I had died in my sleep. There's something about dreary weather that sucks the life out of me. It alarms me that something as trivial as the weather can play such a large role in my mood. I know that I have bigger things to concern myself with, but the loss I feel on a dark December day seems to have nothing to do with them.
I'm not alone in my thoughts, though. Just about every murder in literature is preceded by the storm. While my life should not be wrapped up in books, it does provide a helpful insight into one of the things that bothers me about me.

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