Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #223

BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)

  1. Turn
  2. Time
  3. Tide
  4. Struck
  5. Shift
  6. Sell
  7. Dominate
  8. Retain
  9. Slip
  10. Root

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

Resources you should check out:
Thesis: Best Damn Theme on the Web
Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there


67 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #223”

  1. Here is my poem entry for this challenge,

    Sea Storm
    When the tide struck
    we felt the turn slip
    trying to retain posture
    feet refusing to root
    we shift time and again
    ocean seeking to dominate
    and sell us only one thing
    our unwanted watery graves

    I also recorded this one as well and you can listen to it here:


  2. Chris Fries says:

    I have another 10×10* entry loosely based on this news story I read today:
    I’ve Americanized it a bit, well… just because I’m American, and it makes it a little more familiar:

    “World Record Attempt”
    Turn on the recorder,” Jordan said. “This will be awesome!”

    “The time has come to make history, Dude,” Caleb said.

    “Amaze the tide of humanity!” he added with a laugh.

    Jordan smiled and struck a pose, flexing for the camera.

    Kneeling, he made a shift downward, and then climbed inside.

    He grinned, imagining all he’d sell. Caleb closed the lid,

    and shoveled dirt on top. They’d dominate the news, Jordan

    thought, until fear took over — he couldn’t retain his courage.

    Screw the world record! Panicking, Jordan tried to slip his

    hand out, but only grabbed dirt and a gnarled root.

    *10×10 = Ten sentences of ten words each, using the prompt words in order and in number position within each sentence (the first prompt word as the first word in the first sentence, and the second prompt word the second word in the second sentence, and so forth).

  3. Check it out, Part 5 of Dead Dolphins at Dawn, only a week late!  well not this challenge, but the first part was written a week ago.  anyway, Enjoy!

     “I don’t give a…” Ryan took the phone away from his ear as the Chief let out an impressive stream of explicative’s. Nothing like a Navy man for cussing. “You get your scrawny hide back here and tell me in person!” The Chief had hung up forcefully. Ryan wondered for a moment at how many phones had resided on the Chiefs desk, and how many of those had met an untimely demise due to being slammed down.

    Ryan hung up his own phone and turned back to the burning dolphin pyre. The smell was enough to make him sick but he tried not to think about it as he started toward the woman who had screamed.
    It was starting to seem like a week since he last saw Kaetlyn, not just yesterday morning. Soft lit images of her tossing her hair and giving him that little half smile flooded his mind. He could see her sitting in her chair, cross legged, glasses halfway down her nose, pen tapping her teeth as she tried to figure out her latest crossword puzzle. Her enthusiastic thanks when he brought her coffee. He was daydreaming when he slipped on a patch of sand and nearly fell. “Focus Ryan, focus…” he told himself in that exasperated, frustrated voice that his father pulled off so perfectly. “You have to focus!”

    The caffeine jitters were subsiding a bit and he absently thought about another shot of that nasty coffee the crime scene techs had brought in the Gatorade cooler. He stopped suddenly and laughed out loud. “I hope I don’t win this case right here and get that cooler dumped on me like the winning coach.” He said to no one in particular before resuming his trek.

    Finally, he reached the barricade that was lined with patrolmen, doing nothing but retaining the crowd. One woman, on the police side of the barricade, was sitting on the ground with a young patrolman kneeling next to her, patting her on the back. He stood as Ryan reached them. “Detective” he greeted Ryan. Ryan nodded. “What have you got?” he asked.

    “Well sir, this woman says she saw something evil down there.” He pointed to the pyre. “She don’t want to tell no one but you about it though.” “Doesn’t want to tell anyone.” Ryan corrected. “Fine, go get some coffee, Patrolman.” And he dismissed the kid with a wave before kneeling down in the sand himself.

    “Hi.” He began. “I’m Detective Jones. I guess I am running this thing. What’s your name?” “Mary.” She said. “Mary Mcfee.” “Hi Mary.” Ryan said comfortingly. “What did you see that freaked you out so bad?”

    Time slowed as Mary told Ryan a story that struck him like an avalanche. “Well,” she began, “I saw the story on the news earlier, you know about the dolphins.” He nodded and she continued, “Well I came down, you know, just to see. I was about ready to leave when you guys started piling the dolphins up, so I stayed. I about threw up when they lit them on fire but I just had to watch. As the flames got bigger I saw a face in the flames. It looked like the devil, all horns and fangs, and it looked right at me! It said my name! I was so scared I couldn’t look away. That’s when I saw your name in the burning dolphins. I didn’t know it was you, it just said Ryan. I screamed then and looked up. There was this huge red bird thing that was flying up there, but it looked like a man with wings. I…I…” she stopped and began to sob.

    Ryan shifted on the sand and put his arm around her. She turned into his chest and sobbed harder, clutching at his lapels. Just then his cell phone rang. “Let it ring” he thought, and let it ring he did.

    Several long minutes later, the tide of emotions had subsided. Ryan handed Mary his white handkerchief as she pulled away from his tear stained, snot encrusted coat. “Sorry about that.” She said. “No worries.” He said. “Do you have someone to call to get you home?” “No.” she said. He turned and signaled to a patrolman who came running. “Yea?” the patrolman said.

    “You have a car?” Ryan asked. The Officer nodded. “Good, take this lady home will you? She has had a good fright.” “OK.” The officer said and held out his hand to Mary Mcfee. Ryan handed her his business card and said, “Call me if you think of anything else.” She nodded and turned to go with the patrolman. Ryan brushed off the knees of his pants and turned to the pyre that was starting to burn lower.

    What was going to happen now? He was sent to root out the cause of these dolphins and now he had to sell the chief something about demons and omens in burning dolphins? How was he going to do that?

    His phone beeped just then, reminding him that he had missed a call. He fished the phone from his pocket and looked at the missed call display. He didn’t recognize the number, but the message indicator told him there was voicemail. He wanted to be flippant and make a cute comment but he was very apprehensive as he hit the retrieve button.

    A deep, menacing, laugh came from the recording. After a few seconds of laughter, “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. This Kaetlyn is so…callipygian. and the message ended. A cold fear swept over Ryan Jones, freezing him in place, eyes wide, mouth open, phone still pressed to his ear. Kaetlyn and her well being, the horror of someone taking her, the deep, crushing fear of her not being there was enough to dominate his thoughts.

    Finally, he snapped back into reality and ended the voicemail prompts. He tried to dial Kaetlyn at home. One ring and his phone went dead. He dropped it in the sand and ran towards his car as fast as he had ever run before.

    • Jen says:

      Ooh! Dead dolphins and demons. What happens to Kaetlyn?

    • Justin, this is spooky. And slipping that old prompt word in there just makes me want to go back over the other four parts.

      {wanders off} Oh man, look what I found:

      “Don’t be a grouch.” She said. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

      The burning dolphins is deliciously gruesome. LOL – I can’t wait for part six.



    • Chris Fries says:

      Just kidding!!!! ;^)   I’m actually amazed with how extensive and detailed and engrossing your story is!    It’s awesome with how you can take the ten prompt words and weave such an in-depth, wonderful story. I also love how your episodes drop in subtle references to previous prompts (callipygian  — nice!!!).

      I’m really hooked as to where this is going to go.  I think Ryan hasn’t seen the last of Mary McFee — she’s not so crazy at all, is she?   But first, Kaetlyn needs saving!
      Looking forward to the next chapter!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Justin M: Great, great episode. Love where you took this.

  4. “Listen, Sam, that’s deep and we can run with it. We have to coordinate this with the task force. I don’t have to tell you that Watson is going to be a tough sell to the D.A. Let’s get out of here.” Detective Bateman shifted his massive bulk off of the bar stool.

    Detective Waters smiled and followed Bateman out of the bar.


    15 minutes earlier …

    Detective Bateman was a consummate professional. He had made his point with Waters and felt no need to dominate the conversation. The two of them hashed out scenarios and theories for nearly an hour. Halfway through, Waters had to run out to his car to plug in his phone. Detective Bateman chuckled as he listened to the man hustling outside.

    By the time they had finished, they were both parked outside of Mulligan’s, the unofficial cop hangout. Over a couple of beers, they sought to get to the root of the confusion surrounding their common enemy: a perp smart enough to slip almost completely through the forensic net. Bateman had already given Waters the background on the financial scandal and the evidence linking the Bentworth slayings to that scandal. Now, they were turning over one of the more promising scenarios they had hatched over the phone.

    “The FBI analysts have gone over the financial records of the Towers. The owner is in no way connected to the scandal.” Detective Bateman sipped his beer before continuing. “That leaves the conference room as a tool of convenience.”

    “Question is, whose?” Detective Waters was making Olympic rings on the bar. “This mystery woman, assuming she is the shooter, went through a lot of trouble to associate herself with Watson. I mean, she struck her head on cement, for Pete’s sake!”

    “Any chance it was staged?” Bateman had winced when he pictured the sharp edges of the planter in the lobby.

    “Sure, but that just complicates things, adding the concierge to the mix. Besides, I called Mercy General and confirmed the 911 call.” Waters had pushed his mug aside and placed his notepad on the bar, unmindful of the water.

    “Yo, your pad is getting wet.” Bateman pointed.

    “Ah, thanks.” Waters picked up his notepad and read from it. “So check this out. The concierge says Watson returned from a trip two days later and, when he asked about his daughter’s head, Watson looked at him funny and told him it wasn’t as serious as everyone believed. Something’s been nagging me about that.”

    Bateman waited, letting Waters think aloud. He was beginning to appreciate why this man was making a name for himself in the department.

    “All along, I kept rolling that film in my head. ‘Hello, Mr. Watson, how’s your daughter?’ What The Fuck? ‘Fine. It wasn’t as serious as everyone believed.'” Waters poked his notepad. “That look he must have given the concierge means something.”

    Bateman laughed. “Man, you crazy. But I see your point. This is the second time you brought this up. Over the phone, you said something about a lawsuit?”

    Waters nodded. “Yeah. The concierge said that this woman claimed her father would sue when he got home. In fact, that’s when he first learned who her father was.”

    Bateman frowned. “Well? Where was he, anyway?”

    Waters looked at Bateman, then at his notepad. The tsunami tide had just swept through his brain.

    “I’ll be damned. I asked Cornelius Watson the wrong question.” With the unbridled enthusiasm that accompanies the fresh scent of a killer, Detective Sam Waters traced a tenuous line through the water rings, punctuating each scene with a fingertip of moisture on the old bar.

    “Once he showed me a picture of the kid, I dismissed the whole line of questioning. Even when I called him a few days later, I didn’t pay much attention to the fact that he was surprised that I knew his daughter’s name. At the time, I was thinking that he had to know I would check the 911 call.

    “But that’s it! He didn’t know anything about that call! I’m pretty sure the concierge didn’t mention telling him, as he would assume Watson knew what he was referring to when he asked about his daughter. Neither I nor the concierge made a big deal about the surprised look. Yet, you have to ask yourself what would make a man react so strangely to such a routine, polite question?”

    Detective Bateman was concentrating on Waters’ finger, trying to retain the essence of his epiphany. He nodded, not wanting to look up.

    “You have to see both surprises to get it. Not only did the concierge’s question surprise him, so did mine. Who are these ‘everyone’ who believed the head injury was serious? I never asked the concierge if other people witnessed the incident. And that doesn’t matter, because Watson had just returned from a trip. Obviously, whoever he was talking about heard about the accident somewhere else. That just doesn’t make any sense. The news media didn’t cover it and I doubt the hospital staff really knew or cared who she was. It’s not like she was admitted. She was just another body in the emergency room.

    “So, who knew? Try this on for size. Watson was with his teenaged daughter on a vacation. Or maybe she was in some sort of equestrian event. She falls, hits her head and gets taken away. Everyone who witnessed it thought it was a serious injury. Watson fields phone calls or whatever, reassuring everyone that his kid is okay.”

    Bateman finally looked up. “That doesn’t explain the second surprise. We’ve been fishing deep, here, man. How do you connect that last dot?”

    Here, Detective Waters flashed an arrogant grin.  “Easy. Watson couldn’t believe that I had tracked him and his daughter to the hospital where she received treatment.”

    “You did?”

    “No. But he doesn’t know that. He must have assumed that because, without the first surprise, he would have been all over my ass, wondering why I was investigating his family. Taken together, there’s only one possibility: the mystery woman was on the trip and saw the accident. She got back here before Watson, staged the fall in the lobby and made sure that anyone who looked into it would see Vanessa Watson.”

    Bateman held up his hand. “That wouldn’t stop Watson from being upset. He still could have said something about that.”

    “Exactly! Why didn’t he? Because he had time to figure out what we just discovered: someone was setting him up. And since he has not come forward about this, he must be in it up to his botoxed neck!”

    • Jen says:

      Layered. Tumultuous, great!

    • Chris Fries says:

      Great scene, Mitch!  I love how you deftly delivered this revelation with the key loose thread that will (I suspect) unravel everything! 
      Very nice job!

      • Thanks, Chris! This was the toughest chapter since the anomaly was uncovered in Sisterhood of the Void. 🙂
        But, you know what? It was fun! I love doing puzzles and I looked at this story as a puzzle that I had to solve, right along with Detective Waters.

    • This just keeps getting better.  I love the two cops sitting hashing out scenarios that is just great writing.  Still like the 15 minutes earlier thing…that could be a title.  you have so much detail and introspection this could easily be some good TV.
      Nice work brother.

      • Thanks, Justin! I love your idea for a title. I was thinking of eliminating the format when it comes time to stitch all together. Over several chapters, it doesn’t flow well, sequentially.

        One thing about it, though: I may start with one opening and, by the time the chapter is done, a better “split” presents itself. The cool thing is that I can cut and paste without rewriting a word.

        Your comment about TV was both flattering and thought-provoking: I’ve been watching several really good cop shows and I was thinking that what makes them special is the combination of deep characters and unusual cases. Alcatraz and End Game are my favorites, right now. Grimm is a distant third, mostly for its cases and the comic relief of the Blutbad. 🙂



    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitch: Awesome! More!

  5. Meredith says:

    Her intention was not to dominate her people, yet it came so easily to her. The story was changing before her and being pushed into loss of control was again not her intention. She rooted herself at her post, determined to turn the tide of people back into the bar. The cops were asking everyone anything and offered her a bit of a retainer for her help. She’d be damned if she would slip on the job.
    She watched as a woman flailed her arms while she spoke, shifting into whispers as though someone was listening in. She remembered snickering when the woman entered Slightly Loaded earlier, as the woman seemed to exemplify the bar’s title perfectly. That woman sure was animated. The look on the officer told the bodyguard the woman was more amusing than helpful. Yeah, Roxy thought, that’s probably the case for most of the nutjobs stuck in the pit of Black Earth, WI.
    Now Roxy, yeah, she wasn’t stuck. She was simply marking time. She had several jobs going and was waiting for the right moment. She wasn’t here for long. She’d gotten thrown by a situation years ago when she’s thought things were looking up. So, she struck while the iron was hot, just as they say to do. It took her a few months to realize her ex Jasper just wanted to sell her out and leave. Well, she wasn’t the type of gal to take that kind of shit. No, sir. She took a few days to get over him and moved on. Now she was just waiting. She could feel the right time coming closer and closer.

  6. Jen says:

    I turned in time to determine just exactly whose physique she admired so deeply. Dammit. The waiter. I’d had that same taut chest, the same chiseled chin and white teeth. I had had the same superior gait when I was his age. His age? Did I just think that? I consoled myself in a moment, knowing his bloom would fade. Eventually. No one gets to retain everything. No matter how hard we try. And god if I don’t try. 
    That last game at the club had nearly done me in. Forget twangs; the very root of agony pulsed from my overworked quads and hamstrings. Truth is, no matter how good the burn feels, it doesn’t automatically make one appear more muscular. 
    But what mattered now was a test. Fine. I’ll spot him the body of A god. But if I could shift her focus away, I’d dominate, sore legs or no.

    She surprised me by slipping her slim fingers into the crook of my elbow, turning me like the tide to stand and admire the city. Her boldness struck me almost cold. I could have left her and the waiter in his obviously rented, poly-blend tux, his faded black socks right there in the chill of my wake. It was the rush of the sell, the art of convincing that pleased me. But. Her fingers squeezed, just a gentle urging that roared inside me. I could be convinced, I thought. Why not settle in for the ride? 

    • Jen, this is most entertaining. Three stories in one. I love the authenticity of the speaker’s aches and pains. (From the pen of a runner flows the ink of subtle shading.)

      See you Thursday! 



    • Meredith says:

      Impressive emotional imagery, Jen. Like like like.

    • Chris Fries says:

      Very nice, Jen.  You’re adding depth to this character — he’s not just a predatory ego-centric jerk.  We’re beginning to see a few interesting cracks in the facade.
      I love how you’ve taken a common, familiar setting (two people and a waiter at a party) and built up all these layers of characterization and drama and conflict.  That’s the mark of a true story-teller!  You rock!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Jen: This one one hell of a good story. You and the rest of CCC need to get on the ball and finish your books so you can chat to Sean Platt about his new publishing company. 🙂

  7. molly says:

    We retain what time we can, for memories sake.
    Turn home into the tide,
    shift down into the muck of life, ankle,
    now knee-deep in regret…
    Struck suddenly by the lightness of water
    playing between our toes, as we slip and sidle along
    on feet that have no roots,
    Don’t sell us on goodbyes
    when the kindness and softness
    of evening light dominates the day.

    • Chris Fries says:

      Wow — terrific job, Molly!  I love the layering of emotion.  Beautiful!

      • molly says:

        Thank you Chris! My first one of these challenges! I am looking forward to delving into all the rest as I have the time! Great fun!

        • Cathy Miller says:

          @Molly – Welcome to CCC!

          As you take your turn at the challenge of the week, you’ll wonder where the time has gone as you ride the tide of creativity. You’ll be struck by the talent between these green walls as you shift your schedule to make more time for CCC.

          We find there’s no need to sell the benefits of this place. In time, the addiction will dominate your life. But, not to worry, as you retain the control as you slip into the root of your muse and release your inner soul.


    • Nice one, Molly. I love the sense of fluid motion, especially the vertigo-inducing shifting down from ankles to knees.



      • molly says:

        Thanks Mitch,
        I like your “vertigo-inducing” comment. Made me laugh! (And go back and read my poem again from a new perspective.) 🙂


    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Molly: That was awesome! What did you think of the challenge? I’d love to know.

      • molly says:

        Thanks Shane! This was my first time doing one of these. I’d found and bookmarked this site some tie ago, but never got back to it until now. I loved this one, so looking forward to doing more of these now. It’s a great exercise to get me going when I am not feeling internally motivated (“inspired”) to write. My primary creative writing outlet form is poetry and I write very personal (confessional? I never liked that word…others might say emotional, or even sentimental (another word I despise)) subject matter, so I generally write when  deeply moved or “inspired” though I’ve recently taken my love affair with writing to a new level, and as such find myself writing or wanting to write daily. This challenge, though I’ve modified from short story form to poem form, is just what I need! Succinct, do-able, and keeps my creative muscle exercised. I will be going back over other challenges over the next few weeks to see what I can come up with! 


  8. Cathy Miller says:

    It was Bobby’s turn for a time-out. His twin, Brian, had barely cleared his butt from the chair when his brother was forced to take over. At the moment, Meredith couldn’t remember the feeling of being doubly blessed.

    She’d ridden the tide of motherhood, sometimes crashing against the wall of burden, vowing she would never be struck down. The boys’ father left before they were born. How had she’d been so blind?

    No time to dwell on that dead subject. She had to shift it into gear if she didn’t want to be late for her mother’s Sunday brunch.

    “Brian, are you getting dressed?”

    “I can’t find my Nikes. I bet Bobby stoled ’em.”

    “Did not.”

    “Did, too.”

    “Stop it, both of you right now or we will call Grandma and tell her we can’t come.”

    Meredith knew she didn’t have to sell them on Sunday brunch at Grandma’s. The boys loved going to her mother’s. Probably all that spoiling she did. Thank God for her mother. Meredith didn’t know how she would have survived these last few years without her Mom’s steadying support.

    “Bobby, do you have something you want to say to me?”

    Digging his bare toe into the carpet, Bobby followed its twisting motion with lowered eyes, mumbling, “Sorry.”

    Not the greatest apology in the world, but it would have to do. 

    “Go get dressed and help your brother find his shoes.”

    “But, I don’t wanna…” he trailed off at his mother’s raised eyebrow.

    “Man,” he grumbled, shuffling off towards his room.

    Refusing to let the past dominate her thoughts, Meredith climbed the stairs to get ready. Sighing at the sight of what she called her Mom clothes, Meredith wondered if she’d ever know again what sexy felt like. Did she retain any of that former life?

    Her heart jumped at the crash of her bedroom door. Standing in her slip, she placed her hand over her racing heart.

    “You boys scared the life out of me. What do you have behind your backs?”

    As if two parts of one whole, the boys simultaneously extended their hands toward their mother. Each held a drawing. Reaching down, Meredith smiled at the giant hearts in their slightly misshapen form.

    “We drawed these for you,” Bobby smiled.

    “Cuz you’re our best Valentine,” Brian grinned.

    “I was gonna say that.”

    “Well, you’re too slow.”

    “Am not.”

    “Am, too.”

    Meredith smiled through moist tears as she hugged the boys close. This was the root of her joy. It made it all worthwhile.

    “Well, I am doubly blessed. I have the two best Valentines ever.”

  9. Shane Arthur says:

    I usually comment using my admin screen, so I didn’t notice that the comment threading is still acting up. TO FIX THIS TEMPORARILY, when you reply to someone’s submission or comment and it jumps you to the wrong place, hold down CTRL on your keyboard and hit f in your keyboard. This will bring up the find field in the bottom right of your browser. Type Logged and hit enter. This will bring you right to the “Logged in as” text right above the comment field where you want to be. I HAVE to get this fixed. Sorry all.

  10. Shane Arthur says:

    “Hey Billy. Well, I’ll be dumb-strucked. Turns out dat deaf old man dat sellt me dat suit is a shifty, psychology-knowledge-retainin‘, root-tootin’, sales-dominatin’ devil.”

    “Bobby, what you mean?”

    “Accordin’ to dis persuasion book, dat man turned da tide of da interaction to his favor by slippin’ in a time-tested technique called Contrastin’.


    “Yeah, see what he done did is ask his coworker, Cooter-Joe, how much da suit I was lookin’ at was. Good ol’ Cooter said, ‘$400!’ Da old man acted like he ain’t heard, so he asked again and Cooter toldt him da same thing. And you know what dat old man did? He said, ‘Oh, You’s getting’ a good deal only payin $200 for dis suit.’ Da contrast he created with da higher price primed my mind to thunk $200 was a steal when in factoid, da suit was always $200. I feel so cheated!”

    “Cheated? Yeah, I know what you mean. Here’s your coffee.”

  11. Kelly says:


    The first thing that struck me might be the last thing you’d notice. He had a way of shifting his weight when he was trying to sell a person—the less merit his claims had, the more he’d sway. It was a way to dominate his victim—not saying that you’re a victim, of course!—but without knowing quite why, people had the sense that they couldn’t turn away with grace while he was doing that very tiny dance.

    Well, time slips by us all. It eased past Timmy, all right, like a tide going only one way, and I guess he figured he could retain his slick old moves OR get somewhere in life, but not both. I’ve known him so long I had a chance to spot his new moves taking root… and right around that time, he met you.

    I say “new moves,” but the truth is, Timmy found sincerity—and Karin, I want to tell you two things:

    1. I’m grateful you never met the old Timmy, and

    2. I saw him shifting his weight this morning while he was standing next to you up there.

    He’s a great guy in spite of it, Karin. I’m very happy he sold you on him!

    Brian looked out over the assembled group, and paused just a minute for the laughter to die down. Then he invited everyone to stand with him.

    “A toast. To Karin, fantastic, funny, and absolutely first-class, and to my buddy Tim—the worst salesman in the world.”

    The bride and groom exchanged a shy kiss, while their guests drank to the sale.

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