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Tragic Fate It was a cold and blustery November morning. I was looking out the window of the mediocre, three- bedroom house that my brother Mark and I received after the horrible slaughtering of our parents. I stood there, in the still dark, dinning room just steps away from the front door, and gazed out at the grey, monstrous thunderhead combined with a tenacious whirlwind of rain. It was as if G...